


Can't You Just Imagine Them Getting Together?

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 26,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5421548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Giles/Jenny oneshots, some compliant with canon and some very much not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Last Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> this is a Mess of fics i've written over the last two years so i don't think i'll be updating it anytime soon, but there are probably many more small fics on my tumblr (jenny-calendar)

He was walking her to her classroom, like always. She wasn't holding her books today, as she had left them at school, and he hadn't needed to bring anything to school either, so they were holding hands. Jenny was squeezing his hand between intervals, relaying him a message in Morse Code. (Giles took great pride in the fact that he was dating an extremely beautiful woman who was knowledgeable enough to use Morse Code in everyday life.) Today, her message of choice (which had taken her their entire walk to relay) was YOU LOOK HOT, ENGLAND.

Giles had figured out the gist of the message by the time she got to the L in ENGLAND, and was grinning like an idiot by the N. Jenny tugged on his hand persistently until he turned, both of them stopping just a few doors and a right turn away from her classroom.

"Didja get it?" she asked playfully.

"Rather hard not to understand," Giles replied. "Unless, of course, one didn't know Morse Code."

Jenny gave him a fond smile. "You  _do,_ you know," she added.

"Know Morse Code?" Giles asked curiously.

"Look hot," Jenny informed him with amusement.

Giles ducked his head. "W-well, I'll take your word for it."

His eyes were focused on his shoes, but he still was able to notice Jenny's free hand move to curl around his lapel. Looking back up at Jenny, he was entirely unsurprised when she leaned in for a sweet kiss. It was brief, seeing as they were still in the middle of the hallway, but it was still utterly wonderful. Just as he was about to deepen the kiss, the bell rang, and Jenny pulled away reluctantly.

This had been happening more and more now. They were kissing all the time, everywhere, whenever it seemed like they could steal a kiss without getting caught. Initially, their relationship had been something they kept under wraps at school for the sake of professionalism, but now Giles felt like he couldn't possibly kiss Jenny enough.

Previously, one of Jenny's kisses could sustain him for days. Jenny actually told him during one of their dates that Buffy, Willow, and Xander were all always stopping by her classroom and asking her to kiss him more, simply because it put him in such a good mood.

(Buffy's motivation was primarily so that she could get time off patrolling to be with Angel, and Xander liked being able to put his feet up on the library table without getting reprimanded. Still, Jenny had kissed him anyway, so Giles wasn't too upset about the children's meddling.)

Now, though, he wanted to spend years with Jenny, just kissing her and holding her and being with her. What with his responsibilities, both as Buffy's Watcher and the school librarian, the free time he had was few and far between—not to mention it didn't often intersect with Jenny's.

Giles was entirely certain that he was deeply in love with her. However, he wasn't sure how Jenny would react to this news (seeing as they'd only recently rekindled their relationship) and was consequently hesitant to bring his strong feelings for her to her attention.

Yes, he did see a softness in her gaze when she looked at him, one that hadn't been there at the beginning of their courtship. Yes, she did cuddle into him when they were watching movies, and Jenny wasn't very cuddly by nature. But Giles wasn't inclined to believe that such a wonderful woman could see anything in him.

Even so, he dared to hope that he might win her.

Jenny rested her forehead against his for a moment. "See you at the party tonight," she told him, voice low and smoky.

"You make it sound as if we're going out together," Giles informed her, not managing to keep the petulance out of his tone. "It's Buffy's birthday party. I can't kiss you there without the children acting as though I've mentally scarred them."

Jenny giggled. Her breath tickled his face. "Rupert, we've got tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day…" Her head tilted up. As her eyes began to slip shut, Giles was tempted to take her hint and resume their kissing session. But then footsteps and voices filled the hallway, and he was forced to let go of her hand and step away.

"See you then," he told her reluctantly.

Jenny opened her eyes to smile at him, and there was a softness in her gaze.

As Giles walked down the hallway, he relished in the lingering happiness Jenny's touch always made him feel. Not only that, but Buffy's seventeenth birthday was coming up, making her the fifth oldest Slayer in history. He couldn't help but feel that for once in his life, everything was going well.


	2. Mismatched Bouquets

"You're like a four-year-old on a sugar high," Buffy comments to Willow, who is bouncing on her toes. "And if you keep on doing that, you're gonna lose your balance," she adds, glancing at her best friend's high heels.

"Did you see her dress?" Willow asks for the seventh time, turning excitedly to Buffy. "And her hair—did you see her hair? She's curling it, you know, special, for—"

"Yeah, yeah, Will, I saw it," Buffy laughs, and leans forward to attempt to smooth down Willow's hair. Willow sheepishly stops bouncing, but her grin doesn't diminish. "How do I look?" Buffy asks, twirling in her lavender dress.

"Very nice," Willow replies approvingly. "It's a good color on you."

"It looks best on you, though," Buffy comments. "Better with your hair."

Willow beams. She's absolutely radiating joy today, and Buffy can understand why; everything is looking like it'll go pretty much perfectly. The weather is sunny, but with a slight breeze in the air that ruffles the grass. The guests are all finding their way to their seats, everyone dressed to the nines. Apparently Ethan Rayne tried to sneak his way in, but Xander and Anya apprehended him before he could cause any damage.

It kind of makes Buffy want to laugh when she imagines Ethan Rayne faced with Anya, who's determined that everything will go  _absolutely perfectly_ today and seems ready to murder anyone who stands in the way. Xander seems to be slightly turned on by that, though, which grosses Buffy out. Significantly.

Tara hurries up to them, stealing a quick kiss from Willow. Buffy feigns interest in a nearby tree.

Noticing that she and Willow aren't alone, Tara pulls away from her girlfriend. "Hey," she says to Buffy, shyly, and seems a little more at ease when the Slayer gives her a warm smile.

"I think the lavender dress looks best on  _Tara,_ actually," Willow tells Buffy (although the comment is clearly directed at her girlfriend), her hand moving to clasp Tara's. Tara ducks her head with a crooked smile.

"Bouquets!" Anya shouts, still in her wedding planning flurry, running up to all of them and shoving a bouquet of mismatched flowers into each girl's hand. "God, these are  _awful,_ " she adds, glancing at her own with a frown. "They look like someone picked random wildflowers and put them all together for their bouquet. I  _did_ suggest that the flowers should have been something more traditional, like roses—"

"Yeah, well, us Scoobies never were very traditional," points out Xander, stepping up to all of them and extending his arm to Anya. She takes it, jerking her head at Buffy, Willow, and Tara to find their partners and do the same. Willow links arms with Tara, in preparation to walk down the aisle, and Buffy waits with a lingering smile for Riley to join them.

"Where's Riley?" Willow asks, glancing around slightly worriedly. "We're gonna have to start walking any minute now."

"The flower girl still isn't here yet," Xander reassures her. "We've got about three more minutes. Riley's making sure Giles is ready to step out onto the little…" He waves his hand vaguely. "What do you call that thing the groom stands on to wait for the bride?"

"What, you think he's gonna get cold feet?" Buffy asks. "That isn't really his style."

"Nah, he's just worrying about basically everything," says Xander. "I would have stayed, but after he stopped worrying that Ms. Calendar was going to just, uh, 'come to her senses,' run away and leave him at the altar—"

"Actually, were I Giles, I'd be the one running away from her," Anya comments, seemingly calmed by the opportunity to put her two cents in. "A lot of married women make vengeful wishes nowadays. Do you know how many distraught new brides I catered to in my last year as a vengeance demon alone?"

There are a few moments of awkward silence before Xander finally says, "An? I think we had that talk about not mentioning all of the weddings that you've seen go wrong."

"Yes, but you said Giles was worried," Anya points out, "and you appear to think that his worries aren't valid. I simply wished to defend him."

Xander looks extremely conflicted, like he can't decide whether Anya is being endearing or ridiculous. The expression on his face is so silly that Buffy and Willow both have to stifle their giggles. Finally, he manages, "Great. Uh, glad that you're  _defending_ Giles. Good to know."

"Speaking of Giles," says Buffy, "you said he stopped worrying?"

Xander glances over at Buffy. "Well," he says slowly, drawing out the word, "I mean, he's still worried, but it's just him being all obsessive at this point, so I decided that—"

"What is he worried about now?" Willow asks.

"Like I said, he's being—" Xander begins, but at Willow's and Buffy's pointed looks, he grudgingly replies, "Whether or not anyone's going to trip while they're walking down the aisle."

This makes the bridesmaids all start smirking, save Anya, who gives her boyfriend's arm a reassuring squeeze and tells him, "Well, that's why they have rehearsals, Xander. Imagine if you had fallen into that row of chairs  _now,_ with all the people in them!"

"Thanks, An, that really helps," says Xander sarcastically.

Anya grins proudly, pleased that she's reassured Xander, and rests her head against his shoulder. He glances down at her with this small smile that's slightly different from his usual goofy grins.

"Actually, I think that that's a more serious problem than Ms. Calendar being a runaway bride," Buffy whispers to Willow. "I mean, there's no  _way_ she would run out on Giles, but Xander trips over like  _everything._ "

"Shh!" says Willow, not very vehemently, and elbows her, turning away so she can pretend her smile is due to Tara and not to amusement at Xander's expense.

The flower girl—apparently one of Ms. Calendar's many relatives—runs up, her dark hair tied back in a loose bun that bobs as she sprints up to the Scoobies. She looks about to drop the basket of flower petals, and Willow (who always seems to have a knack with little kids; this has become more and more apparent as more and more relatives arrive in Sunnydale for the wedding) kneels down, letting go of Tara's arm to say gently, "Hey, Alina, you might wanna slow down a little, okay? That way, people get to see how pretty you look in your new dress."

Alina nods obligingly, and does a little twirl not unlike Buffy's to show off her adorable pink dress to Willow. Willow smiles as if she's never seen anything more wonderful, causing the girl to return her grin delightedly.

Riley comes up behind Buffy and takes her arm, pressing a little kiss to her cheek. "Hey," he says softly. "Excited?"

Buffy smiles slowly and looks around. Ahead of them, she can see the small pavilion, full of guests. Giles has taken his place at the altar, and is fidgeting nervously with his bow tie, which makes Buffy want to giggle. Behind them, Ms. Calendar—soon to be Mrs. Giles—is most likely waiting in the bridal tent for her cue, slightly hyped up on caffeine. Actually, Buffy knows that the second part is true; she'd stopped by the bridal tent with a cup of coffee and found out ten minutes later that Willow and Xander had both done the exact same thing.

"Yeah," she says. She rests her head against Riley's shoulder, briefly. "Yeah."

It's not exactly true. She's not really that excited. Giles and Ms. Calendar have acted like a married couple for a long while now, back in senior year when Ms. Calendar would fuss every time Giles came in with a bruise, and Giles would shush anyone who came into the library late because Ms. Calendar had fallen asleep in his office, and Xander came into the library that one time to find Ms. Calendar trying to teach Giles Romanian so that he could talk to her cousins.

Besides which, Buffy's come a long way from seeing Ms. Calendar as The Computer Teacher Giles Is Dating. Now Ms. Calendar is the one who starts a chess game with Willow when they're researching late at night, and writes corny, cheery phrases like  _Spread a little joy_ on Buffy's bandages just so that they can both start giggling at the stupidity, and covers for Xander when he throws a book, or drops a book, or spills something on a book.

Ms. Calendar's a Scooby. And it makes sense for her to want to marry Giles. Giles is awesome, and loyal, and when Buffy thinks "chivalry" she always imagines him. Chivalry is such a Giles-y word, all old-fashioned and dorky but something it took Buffy a while to realize she admired.

Buffy feels her smile grow to a big grin at the thought of the sentimental vows Giles showed her, and the classy-chic wedding dress Ms. Calendar was wearing when she took Buffy's coffee, and the pretty, mismatched bouquet that Ms. Calendar plucked a daisy out of and told Buffy to give it to Giles.

Anya might be wrong about the mismatched bouquet. It's eccentric, and you wouldn't think it would work because of all of the contrasting colors, but when you look at it for a while you start to see the way the contrasts actually give the bouquet a sense of unity.

The music begins to play, and Alina skips ahead, scattering flower petals left and right.


	3. Brooding and Pig's Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canonically, I find this one slightly sketchy. My excuse is that it's set mid-S3 and for whatever reason, Angel didn't try to kill Jenny, so she's considerably friendlier towards him. And mostly I just wanted Jenny to make fun of Angel being all angsty, and Angel to be a little more than the Dark Broody Boyfriend. (Although of course there have to be aspects of Dark Broodiness, because come on. It's S3 Angel.)

“Can I have your cookie?”

Angel glanced up from the manuscript in surprise. “What?”

“Your cookie,” Jenny said conversationally. “Can I have it? It’s been sitting on your plate for the last ten minutes, and I just finished mine."

“Sure,” said Angel awkwardly before going back to researching the most recent demon Buffy had run across. Giles hadn’t called him in, but he still wanted to look into it. After all, if Buffy was in danger, he knew that he had to try and help. Not just out of moral obligation, but due to the feelings that he was trying so hard to—

“You’re sure you don’t want them?” Jenny continued to query. “I mean, Willow isn’t planning on baking any more for a while…”

“Go ahead,” Angel answered, still staring at the manuscript and feeling incredibly guilty that his feelings for Buffy still lingered. If Buffy was in danger, and for some reason or another they got caught up in the heat of the moment…a part of him was scared by the possibility of Angelus resurfacing, but a part of him was too selfish to care. One moment of happiness, true happiness, was worth so much to him, but was it really worth transforming into Angelus again? Was it worth—

“Are you done brooding?” Jenny asked, taking Angel’s cookie.

“What?” said Angel, now actually taking the time to stare at Jenny.

“Look, Angel, we’re the only two people in this library, and I’m getting tired of the whole silent research thing,” said Jenny frankly, taking a bite of the cookie. “Mmm,” she said contentedly, before continuing, “So you finish up your brooding and then we’re going to have an actual, human-to-vampire conversation.”

“I wasn’t brooding,” Angel informed her.

“You’re brooding right now!” Jenny accused him, a laugh in her voice. “You get all sullen.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Angel replied uncomfortably, staring at the manuscript.

He was trying to read. He really was. Reading meant that there was a task he had to finish, monsters he had to fight. But nowadays, the only monsters he seemed to be fighting were his inner demons. The ones he had to protect himself, and Buffy, from at all costs. These were the demons that said it would be a good thing, a moment of happiness with Buffy and then the end of having a soul. The demons that—

Jenny purposefully tipped over Angel’s mug of pig’s blood, spilling it all over the manuscript.

“What the _hell?_ ” Angel demanded, not sure whether to be stunned or angry. He looked up at Jenny, who was giving him a very pointed stare. “I was _reading_ that!”

“I found some info on the Internet that I’m going to research myself, so you don’t need that,” Jenny explained, “and if I had told you that without destroying the manuscript, you would have continued to pretend to read while you brood. And like I said, we’re the only people in the library, so you’re going to _have_ to talk to me.” She turned in her chair so that she was staring at him, a challenge in her eyes.

“I don’t want to,” said Angel, not really liking that he was starting to sound like a stubborn little kid.

“Okay, I’ll just talk, and you can listen,” Jenny told him. She cleared her throat dramatically before beginning. “So I’m thinking of renting a really sappy romantic comedy just to see if I can get Rupert to cry, because he tries to be Mr. Tough Guy when it comes to movies but I always catch him sniffling a little at the sad parts. And I never cry at movies, but he’s convinced that I cried when we were watching _The Lion King._ Which, by the way, is a really good movie, even if it’s a kids’ movie about—“

“I’ve seen _The Lion King,_ ” Angel said quietly.

“Did you like it?” Jenny asked. “I thought it was cute.”

“Parents die a lot in Disney movies,” Angel commented, shifting slightly in his chair so that he could face Jenny. Only slightly, though. He was just going to explain this to Jenny, and then he would stop talking to her. He didn’t really feel in a place to talk right now; he wanted to mull over his complex feelings for Buffy. “I find it morbid.”

“You find _The Lion King_ morbid,” said Jenny slowly, a little disbelievingly.

“Yeah,” Angel replied.

“You, Angelus, the Scourge of Europe, get depressed by _cartoon lions_.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Angel muttered.

“No, I get it,” Jenny teased, dark eyes full of mirth. “It’s really sad when Mufasa dies. That and the stuff with the hyenas? That’s some _dark stuff._ Much darker than, oh, I don’t know, vampires and demons and mysteriously immortal mayors.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Angel persisted indignantly.

“Well, I’d be happy to listen to what you mean, Angel, but you said that you didn’t want to talk to me,” said Jenny with clear self-satisfaction. “So I think I’ll go print out the info you need, and then you can—“

“If you think about _Beauty and the Beast,_ I mean, where are the Beast’s parents?” Angel asked Jenny loudly, choosing to ignore her growing smile. He had to settle this once and for all. “He was, what, ten when he got transformed? And a ten-year-old prince can’t rule a kingdom. Did he eat his parents? Were his parents already dead? And who was ruling the kingdom if they were dead? And what happened to that guy?”

“Maybe Cogsworth was the…uh…what’s it called when someone rules a kingdom in place of a kid who’s too young?” Jenny replied.

“I think it’s a regent,” Angel told her. “Everyone was talking about that in the late 1700s. The regent of…might have been England?”

“Would Cogsworth really be qualified to rule a kingdom?” Jenny continued. “I mean, if you ask me, Mrs. Potts would have been the better choice.”

“Cogsworth was pompous and stuffy, but I think he knew his stuff,” said Angel. Then, casually, “Pompous, stuffy, and British.”

“Are you comparing my fiancé to an annoying talking clock from an animated movie?” Jenny asked huffily. “If anything, Rupert would be Belle.”

Angel stared at her for a moment. Then the thought of Giles in that stupid yellow dress Belle had been wearing came to his mind and he started laughing. It wasn’t very loud, nor was it long (it was about five seconds of laughter), but when he’d stopped, he found that his complex feelings for Buffy didn’t seem as necessary to mull over.

For a moment, Jenny was silent, looking quite stunned. Then she started to talk again, now with an even larger smile. “I mean, it’s totally obvious! Belle wants adventure, she loves books, she’s brave, she’s compassionate, she—“

“Hate to break it to you, Jenny, but Belle fell in love with a hideous monster, and you aren’t exactly the Beast,” Angel pointed out.

Jenny stopped talking, contemplatively bit her lip, and then came up with, “Well, I don’t have the best table manners.” She stood up.

“Oh, are you going?” Angel asked, surprised to sense a note of disappointment in his voice.

“I just have to print out the article I found online,” Jenny explained. “I’ll be right back.” She hurried off.

Jenny came back with a new copy of the document Angel had been reading, blood, and coffee. All three items were ignored in favor of their complaining about the utter stupidity of romantic comedies and most romantic subplots in general.


	4. Lame Souvenirs

Giles wasn’t really paying attention to his cataloguing. He knew that he _should_ be, as Buffy had told him that his consistent staring at the double doors of the library was becoming creepy, but every few minutes he glanced casually over at them when he thought she wasn’t looking. His neck was starting to hurt, but at least he was being surreptitious.

“Giles?” came Buffy’s voice.

Giles turned his head to look at her so rapidly that he thought he might have pulled a muscle. “Yes?” he replied, picking up a few catalogue cards and pretending to write something on one of them. The scribble left a large ink blot right in the middle of one of the words that he had already written, utterly ruining the card.

“We all know you want Ms. Calendar to hurry up and get back from her family visit, but she called you like five minutes ago from the airport,” Buffy said with amused patience. “She isn’t going to get here for another ten minutes at least.”

“She’s a very fast driver,” said Giles lamely, tossing the ruined card into the trash. “Dangerously fast, at times.”

“Yeah, but her car kinda sucks,” Xander pointed out from where he was lounging at the library table. “Come to think of it, you guys and your cars are a match made in heaven,” he added thoughtfully, taking a potato chip from the bag Oz was holding.

“Very funny,” said Giles, and glanced over at the double doors of the library again.

“Obsessive much, Giles?” Cordelia called. “You know girls find that kind of thing creepy.”

“Actually, I think Ms. Calendar will think it’s cute,” said Willow with a small grin. “You want a chip?” she added, holding one out to Giles. “It might help distract you.”

Giles took a chip, looked at it, realized that if he ate a chip and then kissed Jenny he would have potato chip breath, and put the chip back in the bag.

“Oh, no, you can’t do that,” Xander objected. “Now you’ve contaminated the entire bag. We eat that, we all turn into British librarians and start wearing tweed all the time.”

Deciding that this wasn’t worth a response, Giles went back over to the counter, leaning against it to stare at the double doors some more and half-listen to the children converse.

“Ooh, I always wanted a British accent!” Willow was saying eagerly, taking two potato chips. “Girls with British accents always sound so pretty.”

“You’ve got a nice voice as is,” Oz told her, and when Willow responded with a soft, “Aww,” Giles had a feeling that the two were holding hands.

“What about guys with British accents?” Xander asked.

“Okay, I’m not dating my Watcher, and the only other guy I know who has a British accent is Spike, so I’m kind of done with British accents,” Buffy commented, and Giles heard her footsteps as she walked over to the table, followed by the crinkling of the potato chip bag. “Mmm,” Buffy added. “Barbecue. Hey, do we have any sour cream chips for Ms. Calendar?”

“Yeah, but she only gets them if she brought us souvenirs,” Xander replied.

“Xander, it’s Utah,” Cordelia told him. “Are you sure you want some lame souvenirs from Utah?”

“Ms. Calendar said she was bringing me back saltwater taffy,” Xander replied, “so, yeah, I want lame souvenirs. And if she didn’t bring them, I don’t think she should get potato chips.”

“Your kindness is truly inspirational, Xander,” said Buffy dryly. “You’re a model for us all.”

“Giles, are you sure you don’t want any food? We ordered pizza!” Willow called hopefully.

“Since when?” Giles asked in surprise, turning around from the counter. “Yesterday, you were all talking about how you didn’t have any money to order pizza.”

There was a silence, and then Buffy spoke up. “Um, so Principal Snyder dropped fifty dollars in the hallway today, and when Oz tried to return it to him, Snyder called him a delinquent, so we’re spending it on pizza.”

“I wanted to return it too!” Willow added. “And I would feel much guiltier about it if we weren’t spending the money on pizza from that place Ms. Calendar really likes.”

“Plus we got her garlic bread,” Xander concluded.

Giles didn’t really see why they seemed so hesitant to tell him this. There was really only one way to deal with situations involving Principal Snyder. “Oh, I entirely support your keeping money that you find on the ground, as long as you aren’t entirely sure of its rightful owner,” he said casually.

“Or if he’s a rodent-like twerp,” Buffy added.

“I said nothing of the sort, Buffy,” Giles informed her. “I also didn’t say that I agree with you, or that you’re all very thoughtful to use the money to buy pizza for Jenny.”

“Gotcha,” Buffy agreed. “You’re covered.”

There was then a loud _rip_ from outside. It was followed by a woman’s even louder voice, something about a “stupid, overpriced, poor-quality excuse for a wheeled suitcase.” Giles started grinning and couldn’t stop.

“So! I’m guessing Ms. Calendar had a good trip,” commented Xander.

“She—er—doesn’t like traveling that much,” said Giles.

“No, _really?_ ” said Cordelia sarcastically.

The double doors burst open, and Jenny stumbled through, a piece of material from her once-long skirt caught on one of the wheels of her suitcase. Giles's face was starting to hurt from grinning. He tried to school it into a small smile, but when Jenny muttered another curse word at the suitcase, he couldn't help but giggle a little. Very undignified.

“Ms. Calendar!” Willow burst out, utterly delighted.

Jenny looked up at all of them, looked down at the suitcase, looked at what seemed to be a miniskirt, and looked up again, her face a mixture of embarrassment at her suitcase-skirt predicament and delight at seeing them all. Somehow, she had managed to become even lovelier than before over the past four months. Or perhaps Giles had just forgotten how lovely she was. He had gone the entire summer and the first month of school without seeing her, after all.

He strode forward and picked her up, spinning her around. He heard her make a noise that was part shriek, part laugh as her arms wrapped around his neck, and he hugged her tightly, her feet barely skimming the ground. _“God,_ I’ve missed you,” he mumbled, closing his eyes.

“I missed you too!” Jenny laughed breathlessly, her chin resting on his shoulder. It wasn’t entirely comfortable, but Giles didn’t mind too much.

“You have taffy, right?” Xander asked, standing up. “You promised to bring back taffy.”

“Shh!” said Cordelia and Willow together.

Giles put Jenny down, carefully, and kissed her. He had been planning for this. He was now standing with his back to the Scoobies, so it would still look like they were hugging and he would be able to sneak in a quick kiss. What he hadn’t been counting on, however, was for Jenny to stand on her tiptoes and deepen the kiss, which caused him to pick her up and accidentally shift a little so that she was sitting on the library counter. It made for a very nice kiss, especially since he hadn’t seen her in person for four months.

However, lost in kissing Jenny, he’d entirely forgotten about the fact that they were now in full view of the children.

Xander snickered, Cordelia cleared her throat loudly, a shocked Willow accidentally knocked over the potato chip bag, Oz didn’t seem to have a reaction (or maybe his face changed, but Giles wasn’t in a position to actually check), and Buffy yelped, “Giles, _ew!_ We do _not_ need to see that.”

Jenny pulled away with a musical laugh (oh dear lord he had missed her so much) and commented, “You may have scarred the children for life, Rupert.”

Giles, who was far past the point of caring, replied, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jenny informed him, jumping down from the counter. She stood on her tiptoes and grabbed his tie, pulling his head down so that she could press a little kiss to his nose.


	5. Misconception

It’s a misconception that Jenny can’t bring herself to correct.

Rupert thinks she’s healing. Rupert thinks she can’t look at him because she can’t forgive him for what he put her through. Rupert thinks she blames him, and she _does,_ but that isn’t the reason why she doesn’t want to be around him.

Jenny is scared at night. She dreams that Eyghon is back in her body and that she’s doing horrible things and that she can feel herself burning up from the inside out, and she wakes up stifling screams. And every single time, her first coherent thought is that she needs Rupert.

Not wants. _Needs._ She needs to curl into him, breathe in the musty library smell he always seems to have, feel his arms encircle her, hear him tenderly assure her that it’ll be all right. Jenny has never needed anyone like that before, never known exactly where she needed to be in order to heal and be comforted.

Because she knows, with terrifying clarity, that she’ll find solace in Rupert’s arms. That she’ll feel safe there, and that within a few days, she’ll be somewhat better again. Not entirely better—that’s going to take a while—but somewhat better. More so than now, when she jumps at every shadow in her classroom and tries to avoid Willow’s worried brown eyes.

It’s after the third time she awakens from a bloodcurdling dream with a narrowly swallowed cry that she realizes how deeply and truly she loves Rupert. How although she was hurt by what he hadn’t told her about his past, she recognizes the hypocrisy of her being upset about his omissions. There are things in her past, about her family, that she still hasn’t told him. _Big_ things. Things that can make her lose even the slightest chance of a future with her wonderful, caring, genuinely precious boyfriend.

Although, what with her responsibilities, a future with Rupert was always out of the question. She’d known that going in. She’d expected a brief fling, something silly and sweet to distract her from her duties, something that would eventually burn out. She’d thought that a future with a snobby British guy who she had nothing in common with wasn’t something she really wanted.

She hadn’t known that Rupert is the kind of guy who sneaks up stealthily behind her and wraps his arms around her in a hug, kissing the top of her head and eliciting a warm tingle that runs through her body. She hadn’t known that Rupert likes criticizing the plots of rom-coms (just like her) and carving jack o’ lanterns with intricate designs (the ones she always loves to look at) and kissing her on the tip of her nose just so that he could hear her giggle.

She didn’t know that Rupert’s the kind of guy who likes to hear her giggle.

But when he’s not there, a thousand fears and neuroses fill her head, thoughts of what might go wrong, thoughts of what she already can’t change.

 _Don’t get attached to these people, Janna,_ her uncle had told her. He’d used more words than that, along with a lengthy rant about vengeance, but she had gotten the gist. Making connections had never been what she was here for.

But then…then she had met Rupert. And Willow, and Xander, and Buffy, and she was starting to understand what a family was. Maybe she wasn’t exactly part of this one, but even as a casual observer, she could see how close the Scoobies were. Rupert would glance over at Buffy or Willow or (on rare occasions) Xander with fatherly pride, or Xander would come in with a pilfered donut and give it to Willow, or Buffy would sneak up behind Rupert and try to scare him while he was filing (which almost never worked, according to Rupert, but Jenny had seen him jump and drop everything he was holding more than once), and Jenny would recognize that the bonds forged by the Scooby Gang in a little over a year were significantly stronger than what she felt for a family she only halfway knew.

She’d heard, many times, that blood was thicker than water, but she was starting to think that the saying was more than a little bit stupid.

She wants to be part of that family. She wants Xander to care enough about her to give her stolen donuts and she wants Buffy to care enough about her to sneak up and scare her from behind and she wants to get to look over at the kids and feel like she can be proud of them, like she’s somehow contributed to the development of the three amazing teens who routinely save Sunnydale. But she can never be a part of anything but her clan, no matter how badly she wishes otherwise.

Jenny lies in her bed and promises herself that everything will be all right. It doesn’t seem as convincing as when Rupert had reassured her back in the library, with as much conviction and belief as when he reads her facts out of his archaic volumes.

She gets up and dials his number before mental clarity returns to her. Frightened by her desperation to talk to the man she loves (and god, she wishes she didn’t love him so much, because that would make everything so much simpler, wouldn’t it), Jenny drops her phone, leaving it off the hook as a reminder to herself to avoid Rupert Giles.

She can do this. She can stop herself from loving him.

She can.


	6. Chocolate (aka Hot Chocolate)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I wasn't on my laptop for most of the holidays, I sadly missed my window to post something cute on Christmas. Consequently, this is set a few days after Christmas as well.

The doorbell rings. It rings again and again, persistently.

"Dad, doorbell," says Nikki without looking up from her homework.

"Bloody—" begins Giles, who has been trying to take a nap. Jenny, who has a knack for sensing when he's about to let loose a string of profanities, raises her eyes from her copy of  _Scientific American_ and gives her husband a very reproving look, and he hastily finishes, "goblins." This surprises Nikki so much that she looks up from her homework to stare at him. "I-it's Christmas," he explains lamely. "Bloody goblins can be frequent carolers at times. Just let it ring."

"Okay," says Nikki, still looking at her father like he's the weirdest person she knows, and goes back to working on math problems.

The intervals between each ring of the doorbell grow smaller, and Jenny puts down her magazine, giving Giles a look that very clearly says someone is going to get hurt if the ringing doesn't stop.

"Daddy," calls Charles, "I could open the door if you want,"

"We aren't opening it," says Giles flatly. "Just let it ring."

Jenny mutters something in Giles's direction that is very definitely profane before getting up, hurrying over to the door and wrenching it open. "Look, no carolers this year," she begins, and then she stops talking and grins widely.

"Aww, should we come back later?" Buffy asks.

"Maybe we should," Willow agrees. "We're a little late for Christmas, after all."

"Well, we flew all the way to England to mooch more Christmas presents off of Jenny, so—" Xander begins theatrically, but is cut off when Jenny tackles him in a hug. He yelps. "Giles!" he shouts. "Get your wife off me!"

Jenny gives him an exaggerated kiss on the cheek (Giles strongly suspects it's just for the shock value; motherhood has made Jenny a much more silly person) before pulling away and moving to hug Willow, then Buffy. "Aww, it's so good to see you guys!" she says happily.

"Willow?" says Charles eagerly, getting up off of the floor and sprinting over to the door. He's always had a strange, unexplained adoration of Willow. Even when he was a baby, Willow could always calm him down. "It's Willow!" he shouts, before turning to Giles and delightedly informing him, "It's Willow."

Giles gives up on his nap and reluctantly gets up off the couch. The reluctance dissipates when he sees the smiling Scooby Gang, all of them wearing the Christmas sweaters he'd sent them. "I agree with Jenny," he says. "It's lovely of you all to fly down." He gives Buffy a hug, then Willow, and then Xander.

"You can tell it's Christmas when Giles starts giving free hugs," Xander comments.

"I get free hugs from Daddy  _all_ the time," says Charles proudly.

"Oh, doyou?" says Buffy with an innocent smile. "He must be getting soft in his old age."

Jenny laughs. "Come on in," she says, tugging on Giles's arm and moving him out of the way so that the kids can come inside. "It must be freezing out there."

Charles hugs Willow around the knees as soon as she's entered the house. Willow giggles and scoops up the little boy, hugging him thoroughly. "Hey there, Charlie!" she coos. "How's it going?"

"Mama and Daddy aren't letting us go caroling," Charles informs them with an obvious pout. "And they aren't letting any carolers in our house either."

Willow turns and looks at Giles as if he's just set a puppy on fire.

"Jenny and I are investigating a potential—" Giles pauses, glances furtively over at his children, and spells out, "S-E-R-I-A-L-K-I-L-L-E-R."

"Ohhh," says Willow, looking relieved. "Good." At the look she gets from Jenny, she hastily elaborates, "Not the—the thing you're investigating, just, you know, Nikki and Charles love caroling!"

Buffy decides to put her two cents in. "And if you were being all weird and British and not letting them—"

Giles may have missed Buffy, but he hasn't missed her snarky comments. "You know, people  _do_ carol in England," he says indignantly. "I believe the tradition actually originated in England."

Nikki has stopped doing her homework altogether and is grinning at the sight of the Scoobies, which Xander picks up on. "Hey, Nicks!" he calls. "We got some candy canes on the way over, 'cause we figured that your dad wouldn't have any of the good stuff. Want some?"

"Yes please!" Nikki agrees delightedly, getting up and running over to Xander.

"Oh my  _god_ she's so British," Buffy giggles.

"That's what happens when you let your husband pick where to raise the kids," Jenny replies with fake ruefulness.

"I have candy canes," Giles objects, still focused on Xander's earlier comment.

"I know you do, sweetie," Jenny placates him, walking over to him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. It isn't the theatrical one she gave Xander. "You chose some awesome candy canes. You kids want something to drink?" she adds to Buffy, Xander, and Willow.

"Can Dad make chocolate?" Nikki asks eagerly, taking her candy cane out of her mouth. Charles, still held in Willow's arms, perks up hopefully.

Jenny glances at the clock, and Giles follows her gaze. It's nearly nine in the evening, which means it's going to be a late night if they let the kids have anything sweet. But Buffy, Willow and Xander don't usually fly across the ocean to see them for a belated Christmas, and Giles and Jenny have an unspoken agreement that Charles and Nikki get to stay up late on special occasions.

"Yes," says Giles without reluctance.

"I love you, Willow!" Charles announces, and wraps his arms around her neck, pressing the same sort of theatrical kiss to her cheek that Jenny gave to Xander. He has Jenny's dark eyes and hair, making the resemblance even more striking when he pulls away to add, "You need to come around a lot so that me an' Nicks can have chocolate before bed."

"Wait, is this  _chocolate_ chocolate or  _hot chocolate_ chocolate?" Xander asks. "Because last time you said  _chocolate_ it was hot chocolate. England confuses me."

"It's  _hot chocolate_  chocolate," Jenny explains, and adds with playful condescension and a horrible imitation of a British accent, "You Americans."

"Please don't do that," says Giles.


	7. Indoor People

****

“Ow,” said Jenny against his mouth.

Giles pulled back. “All right?” he asked, concerned.

“Yeah, just, I think there might be twigs in my hair, and the dirt isn’t very fun on my back,” Jenny replied. Then, a little morosely, “Am I killing the moment?”

“Not at all,” Giles replied. “I’m an accommodating man.” He wound an arm around Jenny’s waist before rolling over so that he was lying on the ground under the tree.

“Honey, are you sure you—”

“Tweed, remember?” Giles replied, shifting a little. “I’ll be f-ow!” He winced, sitting up so fast that he accidentally bumped heads with Jenny. “Sorry,” he added.

“It’s okay,” Jenny laughed, raising a hand to his shoulder and moving to sit on his lap. “I kind of saw that coming. Here, there are some twigs in your hair.” She reached up and started to work on Giles’s hair, an adorable expression of concentration on her face.

“I think I lay down on a rock,” Giles complained.

“I was probably lying on _three_ rocks while we were kissing earlier. You’re being a total baby.” Jenny leaned forward and kissed his forehead, accidentally pulling his hair a little. Giles yelped at the hair-pulling and jerked his head back, accidentally hitting it on a nearby tree trunk he’d completely forgot existed.

“Ow,” he groaned.

“Oh, god, Rupert, I didn’t—” Jenny pulled away, carefully untangling her fingers from his hair before placing her hands on his shoulders. “Are you all right?” she asked anxiously. “Did that, I don’t know, trigger some sort of prolonged concussion? You get knocked out way too much, did I tell you that before? Are you okay?” She rubbed his shoulders comfortingly.

“I’m fine,” Giles replied, suddenly feeling better at Jenny’s concern. He placed a hand on her cheek and pulled her in for another kiss, this time leaning against the tree. This was actually quite comfortable, what with the tree as a back rest and Jenny in his arms, tasting of the blueberry pancakes she’d had for breakfast. He could get used to this.

Jenny broke the kiss. Looking quite aggravated, she said, “A pinecone just hit me on the head.”

“What?” said Giles, whose mind had only gone so far to figure out that the Jenny kisses had stopped and he wanted them back.

“I don’t think the outdoors likes us,” Jenny sulkily informed him before glowering up at the tree. “You know what, it’s mutual!” she added indignantly to it. Then, to Rupert, “Are there pine needles in my hair?”

“Er, no, but there are some of those…those pine things.”

“Pine things?” Jenny echoed with a confused frown.

“The…” Giles trailed off, tried to think of the name for the little brown things that made up a pinecone, realized he had no clue what they were called, and settled for, “The little brown things that make up a pinecone.”

“Yeah. Pine needles.”

“Jenny, they aren’t called pine needles.” Giles reached around Jenny to pick up a pine needle, using it to gently poke the tip of her nose. Jenny wrinkled her nose and giggled at the touch, and he smiled fondly. “These,” he explained, “are pine needles.”

“Oh, that makes sense!” Jenny agreed, before frowning and asking, “Then what are the pinecone things called?”

“I actually don’t know,” Giles answered. “Maybe I should—”

“Wait, there are some in my hair?” Jenny asked, not sounding at all surprised. Last time they were kissing outdoors, she’d gotten leaves in her hair. “Can you get them out?”

“I’ll try not to pull your hair too much,” Giles replied, beginning to work on untangling Jenny’s hair. When imagining himself married, he had never considered how good he would become at untangling hair. That and putting out cooking fires, but he had a sense that the cooking fires were specific to Jenny. Who, incidentally, was _not_ allowed near the kitchen anymore.

“Outdoor kissing is a no-go, then,” Jenny said with a sigh. “They always make it look so romantic in the movies.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine with outdoor kissing, as long as we don’t try to lie down on the ground. I don’t think the ground works, and it isn’t very comfortable.” Giles carefully untangled a little pinecone thing and tossed it away from him. “Besides which, usually you end up getting something in your hair.”

“Did this happen at the beach?” Jenny asked. “I feel like this didn’t happen at the beach.”

“No, we just got sandy and uncomfortable, not to mention there was no privacy and the children happened upon us kissing on the ground,” Giles replied. “I think we’re indoor people.”

“Yes,” Jenny agreed seriously. “The great indoors. That’s our terrain.” Giles started laughing, and she grinned too as she continued. “We don’t climb mountains, we climb stairs. We don’t surf the waves, we surf the Web.”

“ _You_ surf the Web,” Giles said between laughs.

“Okay, then what’s your sport of choice for the great indoors?” Jenny asked seriously. Giles’s laughs devolved into giggles that he wasn’t exactly proud of, but he knew for a fact that Jenny found them endearing. “No, no, Rupert, stop laughing, I’m serious!” she persistently continued, her hands grabbing at the lapels of his jacket. “Do you…sprint through books?”

“Stop,” Giles wheezed, removing his hands from Jenny’s hair. This was partially because he was fairly certain he had found all of the pinecone things and partially because he was worried he might accidentally pull Jenny’s hair in his fit of laughter.

“Or maybe you…hunt for information?” Jenny continued.

“I’ll die of laughter out here and you’ll have to explain it to the authorities.”

“RIP Rupert Giles,” said Jenny thoughtfully. “Killed by his gorgeous and deviously cunning wife, Jenny Giles, with lots of love and kisses. I don’t know, I think it’s got a ring to it. Can that go on your tombstone?”

“No, my tombstone is going to say It’s All Jenny’s Fault,” Giles replied, managing to curb his laughter for the time being. “I feel like it’s more succinct.”

“Fair enough,” Jenny agreed, and snuggled into him, resting her cheek against his chest. “Mmm. How long until we have to meet the kids back at the picnic area?”

“I can’t check my watch, darling. Would you—”

“Yeah.” Jenny shifted in his lap, glancing at his wrist. “Um, we have about fifteen minutes.” She smiled, closing her eyes. “Good. I’m going to nap.”

“You aren’t,” Giles scoffed. “You can’t nap anywhere besides our bed. You were talking about that yesterday.”

“Okay, then help me get to sleep,” Jenny replied. “Outdoor kissing is physically taxing.”

Giles began rubbing circles on her back. Then he started talking about the history of weaponry.

Jenny was out like a light in two minutes flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to penpet and Roca for the kudos, and Roca for the review! Support for my story is always appreciated, even if I take a little while to respond or let you know I notice.


	8. Inherent Stuffiness

“Mrs. Gi-iles!” Buffy shouts, hammering on the door as Faith stands awkwardly next to a grinning Willow. Both Willow and Buffy have had a persistent smile on their faces ever since Giles called Buffy and told them that his wife was back in town. Faith finds it more than slightly creepy. “We’ve brought the new Slayer to meet you! Giles told you about Faith, right? And Willow has software!”

The door remains resolutely shut.

“I know you’re in there, you technopagan you,” Buffy calls cheerfully.

“It’s the bloody weekend, Buffy, let her get some sleep,” says Giles, wrenching open the door and glowering at the girls. “She _just_ got back from her technology convention, and she has jet lag, and—”

“New Slayer?” says an eager (albeit drowsy) voice.

Faith was expecting some British lady with the same stuffiness about her as Giles, maybe a little more warm and maternal but still inherently well-mannered. The woman (American) peeking around Giles at her has tousled dark hair and is wearing a tank top and what might be men’s boxers.

“Dear,” says Giles, sounding slightly embarrassed, “I’m not sure that this is the first impression you want to make on Faith.”

“Rupert, she’s a _girl_ ,” scoffs Mrs. Giles, the last word giving way to a yawn as she stretches. “It’s not like Xander’s here to make lewd comments about my legs,” she adds. “So you’d be Faith?”

“Yeah,” says Faith. Mrs. Giles steps around her husband so that she’s now standing next to him, and _yep_ those are men’s boxers. Faith would wager her nonexistent savings on those boxers belonging to Giles. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Faith quips.

“Really?” says Mrs. Giles, sounding genuinely surprised.

Faith has to grin. “Nah. But Giles wears a wedding ring.”

Mrs. Giles nods, not looking at all surprised, and says, “He isn’t one to over-share.” She sticks out her hand. Faith takes it. Mrs. Giles doesn’t have a very strong handshake, but there’s a confidence she holds herself with that makes her grip seem stronger than it is. “It’s nice to meet you, Faith,” she says, smiling.

Faith smiles back. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. G,” she says.

Mrs. Giles drops Faith’s hand with a last polite smile. As she turns to Willow, her cordial smile abruptly becomes warm and bright.

Faith feels a pinprick of jealousy. So Mrs. Giles plays favorites, just like her husband. She doesn’t hold it against the lady, though. At least here, it’s clear that they have something in common. Apparently Mrs. Giles teaches computers or something.

“ _Willow!_ ” Mrs. Giles says, and gives Willow a fierce hug.

“Ms. Calendar!” Willow says delightedly, and hugs her back. Pulling away, she adds, “Um, I mean, Mrs. Giles now, obviously. How was New York?”

“Didja bring us back anything?” Buffy hopefully adds.

“I can give the stuff to you tomorrow. I think the souvenirs are still in my suitcase.” Mrs. Giles glances sideways at her husband before reluctantly adding, “I haven’t unpacked yet.”

“ _Jenny,_ ” says Giles reprovingly. “You said you were planning on—“

“I will! It’s just that you do _such_ a better job of putting everything back,” Mrs. Giles wheedles, arms draping around Giles’s neck. Giles wraps his arms around her waist and tugs his wife close. He’s got this gooey look in his eyes that’s more than reciprocated by the lady wearing his boxers.

Gross, really. Faith glances over at Buffy and sees that the other Slayer has this resigned expression on her face. The kind you get when you’re around lovebirds who happen to be your friends, and you get used to the gooeyness being there, but you’re still a little grossed out by it.

Faith makes a face at Buffy.

Buffy’s resigned expression dissolves as she smirks back at Faith. “You’re gonna have to get used to it,” she says. “They’re like this _all_ the time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! This one's kind of short because I was working on my series of Valentine's Day ficlets. Which you should go check out, by the way!  
> And thank you to Liviz223, chicleeblair, and the lovely guests for kudos!


	9. Power Outage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in early S2, before Some Assembly Required.

"It's probably nothing supernatural at all," said Rupert from where he was wedged next to Jenny in the broom closet. He was clearly trying to be reassuring, but the underlying nervousness in his tone made him sound like he was trying to reassure himself and not her. "It's probably just a lockdown drill."

"At  _night_?" Jenny skeptically replied. She would have crossed her arms, or fixed him with an exasperated stare, or done  _something_ to show him that she thought he was being stupid, but he wouldn't have been able to see it due to the near pitch-black darkness of the broom closet. "Rupert, this is definitely bad. All of the lights just went off and something crashed in the gym."

"It could be some sort of power outage," Rupert lamely continued.

"Right. A power outage. Because those happen  _so_ frequently. England, you know I know about magic, so  _stop—_ " and here Jenny elbowed his side, "—trying to hide the obvious from me."

There was a loud crash, and then a piercing scream from outside the broom closet. Jenny felt her heart leap up into her throat, but she didn't let that deter her from very pointedly adding, "See? People don't make those kinds of sounds during a power outage." She hoped to God her voice wasn't quavering.

"Fair enough," Rupert agreed.  _His_ voice was shaking, and suddenly Jenny was even more scared; if  _he_ was nervous (and this was the guy with an insane number of weapons in his book cage) this had to be pretty bad. She'd never heard him like this before.

Then he put an arm out in front of her, gently pushing her to the back of the broom closet, and said, "Stay here."

Without even thinking about it, Jenny yanked him roughly backward. "You are  _not_ going out there and leaving me in here to get eaten by whatever's rampaging through the school," she informed him, hand curled around his forearm.

"Ms. Calendar," began Rupert.

"I'm going with you," said Jenny.

Rupert turned around to face her, shaking her hand off of his arm. "No," he said matter-of-factly.

"I'm not staying in here and waiting to die!" Jenny objected. "I'm going to die with dignity, not hiding in a broom closet waiting for my guy to do all the work for me."

"Yourguy?" Rupert repeated, sounding quite stunned.

Jenny felt certain that she was blushing. Thank goodness it was dark. "You know what I mean," she said hastily. "Just—if you're going to stay, I'm staying. And if you're going to go, I'm coming with you. I'm not super into waiting around while someone else calls the shots."

"I noticed," said Rupert. There was something in his tone now that, were it anyone else, might have been fond. After a moment, he said, "I'll stay with you," and stepped back to stand next to Jenny, his back resting against the wall.

There was another crash, this one closer to them, and Jenny felt a surge of panic.

"Jenny," Rupert whispered.

"Yeah?"

"You're, ah, holding my hand."

"What?" Jenny realized that she was, in fact, tightly gripping Rupert's hand in hers. "Yeah," she finally agreed, unsure of what else to say, but also not ready to let go of Rupert's hand. It was comforting to know that she wasn't alone in a dark closet with some kind of monster roaming the halls.

There were a few more seconds of silence, and then Rupert observed, "You aren't letting go."

"You have a problem with that?" Jenny replied, trying her best to sound like she couldn't care either way.

Rupert was silent. Then, quietly, in a manner that Jenny knew wasn't intended for her to hear, he murmured, "No."

Jenny was once again glad for the darkness, because she was probably grinning like an idiot. She let go of his hand a little (so that she wasn't squeezing the life out of it) and moved closer so that their shoulders were touching.

Rupert leaned into her, ever so slightly.

They stayed like that until the power came back on.


	10. Jenny the Email Hacker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration from a Calendiles AU that I'm kind of halfway working on, and a little from DragonyPhoenix's The Letters, which is entirely unrelated to this but still very good.

To: rgiles@shs.edu

From: jcalendar@shs.edu

Subject: Change your email password, Rupert

I could easily log into your account and send an email to myself detailing all of the things you love about me. It could get very flowery. I will remind you that these are SCHOOL ACCOUNTS and if the administrator so chose, they could send the email on to Snyder.

Rupert, you’re adorable, but you’re going to get hacked. I set up your email for you last year and you _still_ haven’t changed the password to something non-generic. Trust me. You’re going to want to change it soon. I have a plan requiring the use of your email address that I know you won’t appreciate.

Jenny

* * *

 

To: rgiles@shs.edu

From: jcalendar@shs.edu

Subject: Rupert…

I just tried logging into your account and it still worked. You don’t even have the excuse about not knowing that I want you to do this, because I stopped by your office and told you in person. And I know you remember _that._

Jenny

* * *

To: rgiles@shs.edu

From: jcalendar@shs.edu

Subject: GET ONLINE SOON OR I SWEAR I’LL GO THROUGH WITH IT

[no message]

* * *

 

Bcc: rsnyder@shs.edu

From: rgiles@shs.edu

Hello all!

This is Mr. Rupert Giles speaking. I’m so terribly sorry that I wasn’t as friendly as I would have liked to be last year; my beloved Aunt Ethel died and I took it very hard. To make up for this, I’d like to volunteer the library for the location of the next faculty meeting. I shall be providing snacks. 

Cheerio!

Mr. Rupert Giles

* * *

 

To: jcalendar@shs.edu

From: rgiles@shs.edu

Subject: Never do that again

Thanks to you, I’m fielding awkward questions about my nonexistent Aunt Ethel. I think I told someone that she died because someone kept on asking her irritating questions. It may have been a student. I am quite on edge.

And also, I’ve never said _cheerio_ in my life.

Rupert

* * *

 To: rgiles@shs.edu

From: jcalendar@shs.edu

Subject: The _cheerio_ was very necessary

Everyone on the staff is convinced that you speak like that since I’m the only person you talk to. You need to make more friends. Plus, I did say that if you didn’t change your password, there was a possibility of you getting hacked. You’re lucky it was me. I was nice.

* * *

 

To: jcalendar@shs.edu

From: rgiles@shs.edu

Subject: _Nice?_

Hardly.

Rupert

* * *

 

To: rgiles@shs.edu

From: jcalendar@shs.edu

Subject: Ok, maybe not nice…

…but I’m sure you’re not averse to some naughtiness here and there ;)

Speaking of, up for some this Saturday?

Jenny

* * *

 

To: jcalendar@shs.edu

From: rgiles@shs.edu

Subject: Didn’t you say these were school accounts?

Can’t Snyder see these emails?

Rupert

* * *

 

To: rgiles@shs.edu

From: jcalendar@shs.edu

Subject: You’re a dork

He can only see them if the administrator deems them inappropriate in the workplace and sends them on to him. The administrator happens to be this really awesome computer science teacher, and from what I know of her, she’s cool with it.

Jenny

* * *

 

To: rgiles@shs.edu

From: jcalendar@shs.edu

Subject: To put it bluntly…

I’d like you to come to my place Saturday night. Don’t plan to go home until Sunday afternoon.

Jenny

* * *

 

To: jcalendar@shs.edu

From: rgiles@shs.edu

Subject: I’ve checked my prophecy books

No impending apocalypses. I'll cook us dinner.

Rupert

Postscript: I did change my email password. And I don't have to host any more staff meetings anymore, because the one in the library went so abysmally, so I do have you to thank for that. 

* * *

 

To: rgiles@shs.edu

From: jcalendar@shs.edu

Subject: FINALLY!

[no message]


	11. Unconventional Couple

Giles is awoken by the faint aroma of something burning. Rolling over to check on Jenny, he finds that he’s the only one in the bed. This development makes him sigh resignedly; he now knows what awaits him in the kitchen. He takes a few more seconds to enjoy the warmth of the bed before the burning smell becomes stronger, at which point he hurriedly gets up and exits the bedroom.

Sure enough, when he comes downstairs, Jenny is running around the kitchen in a panic to attempt to extinguish what looks like it was going to be pancakes. Now, however, it’s a small fire in the frying pan. Giles has to take a moment to marvel at his girlfriend’s ability to set breakfast foods on fire.

“No, no, no, you go back to bed!” Jenny orders him furiously, her authoritativeness diminished by the fact that she’s got an endearing case of bed head and she’s wearing one of Giles’s oversized t-shirts, making her look smaller than she actually is. “I’m making you breakfast in bed and I’m _not gonna burn anything!_ ”

“Oh,” says Giles, and glances over at the cheerfully dancing flames. “So you just decided to start a fire in my frying pan, then?”

“This is my first batch, England, just let me try one more time?” Jenny pleads. “I wanted to surprise you for once!” Indeed, she does look quite distressed, although Giles is fairly certain that it’s at least partly because of the fire she’s just set in the frying pan.

“Jenny—” Giles begins exasperatedly.

Jenny sighs. “Fine,” she says quietly. “I’ll just have to think of something else to do for you. I just—I wanted to give you a nice breakfast in bed, you know? You make me breakfast in bed all the time and, I mean, isn’t that something a girlfriend should do for her boyfriend?”

Giles feels his irritation melt away, and he’s about to reassure her when the smoke alarm starts going off. Jenny winces guiltily as Giles turns to the flaming frying pan and takes the fire extinguisher (which he bought when Jenny moved in with him; it’s always best to be prepared) out from one of the cabinets.

As soon as the fire is completely out, he turns to Jenny and pulls her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. “Darling,” he says, “we’re hardly a conventional couple. You will recall that you’re the one who fixes the wiring around here, yes?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And you’re the one who always wants to watch American football?”

“I guess,” Jenny concedes, tilting her head up to look at him. Her hands move to his shoulders. “But that’s still not really anything that I do for you.”

“We save about a hundred dollars a month on our electric bill because of that system you rigged,” Giles informs her.

“Technically, that’s half illegal and half magic,” Jenny points out in a low voice, “so you might not want to go bragging about that one.”

Giles has to smile. Jenny’s adorable when she’s being conspiratorial. “My point is that I love you,” he says. One hand moves to stroke her cheek, and Jenny smiles, eyes fluttering shut at his touch. “And love—love isn’t about favors, or doing things for people. Love is about making the other person happy, and you make me happy with your continued presence in my life.”

“You’re so corny,” says Jenny with a little giggle, opening her eyes as her smile widens. “You’re lucky I’m into that.”

Giles leans in and kisses her, a whisper of a kiss that Jenny immediately deepens. Her arms wrap around his neck and he pulls her up slightly, lessening their height difference as Jenny’s toes skim the ground. Remembering the stovetop, Giles removes his hand from her cheek to turn the knob off. He’s very proud of the fact that he’s learned how to do this while kissing Jenny; this is the advantage of having a girlfriend with the tendency to accidentally set things on fire.


	12. Reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting a lot of things from my Tumblr over here all at once!

_Jenny Calendar,_ Giles writes, and then stops, because something in him has wrenched and twisted awfully at her name on paper. For the last two weeks he’s seen  _Jenny Calendar_ as a murder victim, typed neatly in the obituary section of the newspaper, on a pamphlet reading  _Memorial Service_ that Principal Snyder had ordered to be passed out in the staff room and in classrooms. He’d found out that Giles was intending to hold a funeral (a quiet affair, like Jenny would have wanted) and been livid that he was being “exclusive” and that he didn’t have “rights” to Jenny’s funeral just because they’d dated.

Which, Giles supposes, is reasonable, given that he’s technically Jenny’s ex in the eyes of the students and staff, and he didn’t feel ready to disclose to anyone that he and Jenny had been on the verge of some sort of reconciliation. The children look at him with sympathy and sadness enough. Besides which, he isn’t sure if he can even say it aloud.

Reconciliation. He remembers entering his apartment, feeling a bit of a giddy rush.  _La Boheme_ had been playing, and he’d been so unbelievably touched that she’d remembered. He’d mentioned to her, barely two weeks into their relationship, that he thought she might appreciate the opera, being that it was the basis for a musical she liked. She’d grinned and replied that they’d have to listen to it together sometime. And then there it was, the record playing in his apartment, rose petals strewn across the floor and champagne in an ice bucket.

Reconciliation. He remembers thinking  _she loves me,_ and it was like a song in his heart. He’d never thought of Jenny as the type of woman to set up a seduction like this, much less for him. He’d suspected she wasn’t the type to do it for just anyone, and he’d smiled even wider at that thought.

And then, of course, he’d walked up the stairs and—

The pen scratches a violent line on the paper, straight through Jenny’s name. Giles is brought back to the paper in front of him. He draws in a pained breath and turns it over.  _Jenny Calendar,_ he writes again, and this time he stops because there are no words. 

He’d said he’d write her a eulogy. No one else seemed to have enough to write about her. Willow and Xander and Buffy had all seemed somewhat startled by the prospect of a eulogy for Jenny. But then there’s a lot of things going on at the moment; he can’t expect them to remember everything.

But then he wonders what it would be like if, say, Willow had died at Angelus’s hands. And with that thought comes a rush of panic mingled with a fierce, almost paternalistic desire to protect Willow (so small and sweet, one of the most eager and intelligent girls he’s met), but when he imagines Buffy’s and Xander’s reactions, he can’t see either of them forgetting a eulogy, and he certainly can’t see them laughing in the library so easily.

He knows he’s being unfair. He knows that they’re children, that they didn’t know Jenny as well as he, that they shouldn’t be expected to grieve as deeply. But it’s lonely when the eyes that look up at him are full of sympathy for him and not grief over Jenny.

If Jenny were here—and here he has to stop himself, this time to scoff at his own idiocy. If Jenny were here, there would be no need to mourn, and he’s sure she wouldn’t expect him to mourn her anyway. Jenny never seemed to fully comprehend the depth of his feelings for her, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever forgive himself for not voicing them sooner.

 _Jenny Calendar,_ it says on the paper. Giles picks up the pen again.  _Was a unique and remarkable woman,_ he scribbles, more stream-of-consciousness than anything else,  _and I doubt that a teacher like her will ever grace the halls of Sunnydale High again. She was vivacious, and witty, and compassionate, and her smile_

He stops. It reads like the writings of a smitten fool, and he can’t afford to be one anymore. The woman he was so besotted with is gone, and isn’t returning.


	13. Roses for the Producer

“Hey.” 

Giles, who was still rather on edge from both the demon decapitation and the children’s abhorrent attempts at Oedipus, jumped slightly before recognizing the voice. He steeled himself, turning around. “Hello,” he said nervously.

Ms. Calendar was holding red roses.

“These are for you,” she explained, handing the roses to him and smiling; the first genuine smile Giles had seen from her in all the time he’d known her. It was a bright smile and he felt a bit fluttery. From being startled, of course. “I think it’s probably some kind of tradition to give flowers to the producer? You did a great job, England.”

“Oh,” said Giles, and felt himself grin nervously back as he took the roses. Ms. Calendar’s eyes drifted to his mouth. Or perhaps they didn’t. He was most likely imagining things. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”

“I, uh, don’t hear that a lot.” Was that a blush on her cheeks? “I’m glad you like them. You have no idea how hard it is to get good quality roses in this town.”

“I’m flattered you took the effort for me,” Giles replied. He felt unusually warm. Clearly he was still startled.

“Well! It’s important to support your local theater.” Ms. Calendar seemed to collect herself. “I especially enjoyed the interpretation of Oedipus. That was definitely a new experience.” She was smirking now, looking up at him as if inviting him to make a sarcastic comment in return.   

“You certainly seem to have a more optimistic outlook than I,” said Giles, wincing involuntarily at the recollection of Buffy’s lackluster performance, Xander forgetting his lines, and Willow running off the stage. “I blame Principal Snyder for roping them into it.”

“Ugh.” Ms. Calendar’s nose wrinkled delicately. “Why can’t  _he_ get eaten by something horrible? Or disappear?”

“My theory,” said Giles, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially in her ear, “is that he’s secretly immortal.”

“Get out.” Ms. Calendar looked up at him with a thrilled grin.

“The disdain for children comes from his belief that his immortality means he’s wise. He thinks he knows more than them because he’s been around forever, but he’s actually too thickheaded for any of the knowledge around him to actually stick.”

“ _Rupert!_ ”

Giles’s heart did a backflip at the amusement and delight in the way she said his name. “It’s an entirely likely possibility,” he persisted, but then the children came over from the stage (Willow still rather pale, Buffy looking somewhat sulky, Xander just looking relieved to be off the stage) and he felt a strange sense of disappointment.

“Whoa, what’s up with the flowers?” said Xander loudly as he came up to them. “ _Roses?_  Giles, are you  _wooing_ Ms. Calendar?”

Ms. Calendar stopped smiling and went surprisingly pink.

“Er,” said Giles, who wasn’t entirely sure why it was so difficult to formulate a response to a question he already knew how to answer. “That. The. It.”

“No, it was just to congratulate him on a job well done,” Ms. Calendar replied smoothly. She looked entirely composed save for the slight flush in her cheeks. “He’s a good producer.” She reached up and squeezed his shoulder. 

“Well, hey, what about us?” Buffy asked, looking playfully affronted. “Do we get flowers too?”

“Er,” said Giles again, and glanced over at Ms. Calendar, who still had yet to remove her hand from his shoulder. “It’s, ah, Ms. Calendar’s bouquet, I think she should—”

“Oh, I mean, I gave it to you, so if—”

“I’ll settle this,” said Xander decisively, and before Giles realized what was going on, the bouquet was out of his hands and being divided up among the kids. “We did all the  _real_ work here, Ms. Calendar,” he informed the adults. “Don’t let Giles and his professional-British-guy act fool you. He just sat around and watched things.”  

“Ooh, flowers!” Willow beamed up at Ms. Calendar with such delighted adoration that Giles’s determination to retrieve his bouquet immediately dissipated. “This is so nice of you, Ms. Calendar. Thank you!”

“Of course,” said Ms. Calendar, who was looking a cross between confused and disappointed. 

Buffy gave Giles a significant look that he was a bit too muddled to decipher, and then she said, “We’ll leave you guys alone. Thank you  _so_ much for the flowers, Ms. C!” and steered Willow and Xander towards the exit.

“They were definitely only for you,” said Ms. Calendar, sounding a bit exasperated. “Curse Willow and her puppy-dog eyes, or I would have taken those back from Xander immediately.” She hesitated, and then, excitedly, “Oh!” 

“What is it?”

Ms. Calendar beamed at him in response before fishing in her purse and pulling out a slightly more battered red rose. “This one made it! I always keep a spare.”

“Do you  _really?_ ”

“Nah, I wanted to keep one to remember that I gave the cute librarian a bouquet without chickening out, but I guess you might need this more than me,” Ms. Calendar replied with a completely straight face. Was she joking? He couldn’t tell if she was joking. He took the rose. “I’ll see you around, okay?” she added.

Giles felt a startled grin steal across his face. “Yes. Yes, completely.”

Ms. Calendar smiled back, and walked past him out of the auditorium. He turned to watch her leave, and when he was certain she was gone, he looked at the single red rose and smiled. It still smelled sweet, and it was the first time anyone had done something like this for him. 

“Cute librarian,” he repeated, and his grin widened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy (belated-ish, but then you already read this fic) birthday Queen S!!


	14. Top Priority

“Dinner and a show.” Jenny had a teasing note in her voice over the phone. “Very old school.”

“When have I ever been anything but old school, Ms. Calendar?” Giles quipped right back. At Jenny’s surprised laugh, he felt a flutter of delight. He hadn’t heard her laugh like that in weeks. It was reassuring to know she was recovering from Eyghon, albeit slowly. “You’d best dress up. We’re going out on the town tonight.”

“What, no supernatural stuff on the agenda?” Jenny asked, sounding somewhat disbelieving. “And you’re taking me out to a fancy restaurant? Sounds much too good to be true.”

“Buffy said she and Angel would be handling patrolling, and youdeserve more than just kissing in the library and staying in at my place for dinner,” Giles told her warmly. “I’d like you to enjoy yourself for a night, without having to worry about my prioritizing our time together second to, er, ‘supernatural stuff.’”

“I don’t know if  _worry_ is exactly the word,” Jenny replied. “I mean, I completely get that saving the world takes priority over date time with the girlfriend. That’s just common sense.”

“Girlfriend?” Giles repeated. His heart did a strange jumpy thing.

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line, and then Jenny said breathlessly, “I mean, yeah. Yes. If you—if that’s not—” She laughed, this time sounding uncharacteristically nervous. “I, uh, didn’t exactly intend to bring it up like that.”

“No, it’s,” Giles grinned. “fine. It’s fine. Lovely. Girlfriend.” He giggled, and couldn’t find the self-consciousness to regret it. “Date time with the girlfriend does happen to take top priority as of late. Rather unusual, considering my work ethic.”

“ _Top_ priority.” Now Jenny sounded just as delighted.

“Quite.” Giles managed to stop grinning and compose his expression. Buffy was going to come into the library in a few minutes for a quick training session before patrolling, and he didn’t particularly want to look like a besotted idiot. Regardless of the fact that he was. “So. I’ll be picking my girlfriend up at five.” 

“Yep. You will.” He could practically hear a smile in Jenny’s voice.

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

There was a comfortable moment of silence before Giles realized that someone should probably hang up. “Have a good day,” he said, and tried to infuse as much intimacy and affection into the phrase as one would if saying  _I love you._ Then something occurred to him and he nearly dropped the phone.

“You too,” said Jenny, equally affectionately, and hung up. 

Giles was in love with Jenny.

Dear lord, he was in love with Jenny.

When had this happened, exactly? Vaguely, he remembered that he was holding the phone, and managed to put it back on the hook before sitting down. His heart was pounding and he felt a bit dizzy, but wholly unsurprised.

It wasn’t as though it had happened in that instant, but it had become clearer. Like—like he’d cleaned his glasses and seen something that had always been there. The feelings didn’t feel new; they felt comfortable, warm, and certainly very noticeable now that he’d put a name to them.

He was in love.

He was in  _love._

Giles smiled softly. He might have to wait on telling her, given that they’d only just become an official couple, but then she’d made their relationship exclusive after a demon he’d summoned had nearly killed her. That did bring a more serious level of commitment to it.

Either way, he was rather certain that he had a chance.

“I love her,” he said aloud, testing the words for the first time. He hadn’t said her name, he realized, and tried again. “I love Jenny Calendar.” There was a  _rightness_ to the words, to the world. He hadn’t been in love before, not without obstacles, not without secrets. Jenny knew his worst and still wanted to be with him, and that was truly a gift. 

His Jenny. Or, more accurately, he was her Rupert. Lord, when was the last time someone had called him by his first name with such fondness? He was hers, and they were going to a movie tonight. Giles pushed his glasses up his nose and began to file. Though he wasn’t quite certain where these feelings would lead him, or even if they were reciprocated, he couldn’t seem to stop smiling.


	15. Jenny's Closet

He hadn’t known she had a blue dress. Giles took it off the rack. It was a sundress, light blue and summery, and it would have gone to her knees. The fabric was loose, but it would still emphasize her shape, and the skirt would flare out if she twirled. It suited someone like Jenny, who was always in motion.

_Had_ always been in motion.

Giles put it back on the rack.

There was a tentative knock on the half-ajar bedroom door, and Giles turned. Willow was peering through the opening. “Yes?” he said. His voice was tight and terse. He would have been apologetic under different circumstances.

“Um, we’re going to go get some burgers,” said Willow tentatively. “We were wondering if you wanted anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” said Giles. “Not particularly hungry at the moment.”

Willow swallowed hard, her eyes wet. Giles was certain that, of all the children, going through Jenny’s things was probably the hardest for her. She nodded. Then, quietly, “I’ll pick up something for you anyway.”

“Thank you,” Giles somewhat perfunctorily replied. The idea of eating didn’t really appeal to him. He turned back to the closet as Willow’s footsteps retreated. 

Here was a sweater he remembered she wore when he had her over for dinner, that night that ended with them both somewhat inebriated and throwing various items down from the loft bedroom in an effort to clear the bed off. And here, that skirt she’d had on the night they went dancing. They hadn’t been perfectly in step, by any means; they both had different ideas of what dancing meant, but they’d found a sort of common ground at the slower parts. 

Giles remembered Jenny in his arms and his throat went tight. The point of his going through her closet wasn’t to reminisce. He rifled through the dresses until he found a black one—no, a nightshirt, and she’d worn it one of the few times he’d spent the night here. Aside from the summery sundress, was there an article of clothing he hadn’t seen? 

Another dark dress, this one a deep blue that was almost black. He remembered this one. She’d worn it to one of the formals she’d chaperoned last year. He’d been standing awkwardly by the punch bowl, and this had been after Moloch, so she’d come over and stood next to him. They’d made small talk. It had been the first time he’d seen a genuine smile from her. 

It would have to do.

Giles took the dress off the hanger and strode out of Jenny’s bedroom. The children were already gone, but the notes were scattered across Jenny’s kitchen table. Flower arrangements, writing an obituary (Willow had put that under his list of responsibilities), purchasing a coffin. Jenny’s dress.

He would have left that to the girls. Should have left that to the girls. They were more fashion-forward. But he didn’t feel ready to let them near Jenny’s bedroom, have them look through her things. Her bedroom was the one place in her house where he could pretend he was waiting for her to come back. He could listen to the footsteps in the other room, pretend it was Jenny’s feet on the tile of her kitchen. She sang to herself when she cooked. Had sung.

Giles exhaled quietly in the empty apartment and walked over to sit down at the kitchen table. The children would be back with burgers soon, and he couldn’t afford to break around them. Someone had to be the strong one.


	16. On Sonnets and Sarcasm

“What’s that one?” Jenny asks sleepily, her chin resting on her forearm. She’s lying on her stomach, tangled in the blankets, watching Giles with bleary dark eyes as he writes on her outstretched arm.

“I’ll read it when I finish,” Giles replies, amused. “Is my cursive that bad?”

“Mmm.” Jenny makes a movement that could be either shaking her head or trying to dislodge a bee from her ear. “It looks pretty.”

“ _She walks in beauty, like the night/Of cloudless climes and starry skies_ ,” Giles recites, carefully finishing his words with a flourish. “ _And all that’s best of dark and bright/Meet in her aspect and her eyes_.”

A slow, graceful smile curves Jenny’s lips. “Byron,” she says.

Giles looks up, startled.

“Love poems were my thing in high school.” Jenny has gone from looking drowsy to looking relaxed. “You could try a little harder, you know. Every gothic poetry nerd knows Byron.”

“I’m  _tired,_ darling, do cut me some slack.” Giles picks up her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles. “A moment, please.” He considers his options before picking up the pen again.

“What’s next, Shakespeare?” Jenny teases. “I knew you were cliché.”

“See, I can tell you’re awake when you’re being tiresome.” Giles leans forward on the bed and kisses Jenny, feeling her smile become a wide grin against his mouth. He pulls away, brushing noses with her teasingly. Her eyes are sparkling, her hair charmingly tousled. He has never seen her looking anything but breathtakingly pretty, but then he may be rather biased. “And just for that, I’ll write out Shakespeare’s eighteenth sonnet.”

“We’re not all dorks who know the sonnets by number, England,” Jenny says pointedly.

“ _Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?_ ” Giles begins theatrically. Jenny’s nose crinkles adorably as she starts laughing. “ _Thou art more lovely and more temperate—_ ” He kisses Jenny again, this time placing the pen carefully down so he can pull her into his arms. She’s still laughing, so much that she has to break the kiss and bury her face in his shoulder. “Now, Jenny, how am I supposed to write if you’re laughing this much?”

Jenny raises her head to look at him, face flushed. “You’re such a jerk,” she tells him, with the same warmth as one would expect of a declaration of love.

Giles hears the unsaid message. He responds in kind. “ _Who ever desired each other as we do? Let us look for the ancient ashes of hearts that burned,_ ” he murmurs, “ _and let our kisses touch there, one by one, till the flower, disembodied, rises again._ ” His hand cups her face, thumb stroking her cheek.

Jenny smiles slightly. “I don’t know that one,” she says.

“Neruda,” says Giles. “Not quite as gothic as your usual tastes would prefer, I suspect,” he adds, unable to resist temptation, and kisses her nose to soften the blow somewhat.

“Dork,” responds Jenny affectionately. She settles her head against his chest, rests the arm covered with his graceful cursive on his shoulder. “You gonna write it down?” she asks. 

Giles attempts to pick up the pen again, but Jenny kisses him deeply, drawing him towards her. He pulls away. “I can’t exactly write if I’m kissing you,” he points out.

“Huh.” Jenny looks momentarily contemplative. Then she attempts to go back to kissing him. 

“ _Jenny._ ” Giles pulls away again, giving her a last feather-light kiss before finally picking up the pen. “Bugger all, there’s ink on the bedsheets.”

“I’m sure that’s a trend somewhere, babe, it’s fine.” Jenny rolls onto her stomach again, stretching an arm out in front of her. She smiles as Giles begins to meticulously transcribe the stanza. “How many do you know?”

“Hmm?”

“Love poems.”

“Enough to cover you from head to toe, most likely, although I might need a few books for maximum literary accuracy.”

“Now we have a weekend project, then.”

Giles nearly smudges the ink as he meets Jenny’s eyes. She gives him a significant look. “Yes, ah, well, aside from the fact that I’m certain it isn’t very healthy to write all over you in ink, I…” He clears his throat. “Can’t honestly imagine a scenario where I don’t—er—become somewhat distracted.”

Jenny smirks. “That’s kinda the point.”

Giles sighs long-sufferingly, completing the last word. He can’t stop himself from smiling, which he supposes may somewhat diminish the sigh’s solemnity. “You’re incorrigible,” he informs her as he caps the pen.

“Coming from someone who’s pretty much a lost cause himself, that means next to nothing,” Jenny volleys back as she sits up, running a hand through her hair. Her fingers catch. “Ugh.”

“Here.” Giles moves forward, tugging Jenny into his lap and reaching for the comb on the bedside table.


	17. Past Tense

Jenny has— _had—_ chocolate brown eyes full of warmth and wonder and fierce optimism. Jenny has—had, and he won’t ever get used to the past tense—soft dark hair and a sweet smile and lips that, if one kissed them long enough, one might taste cinnamon.

And when he’s packing his weapons and heading to the factory, all he sees are those chocolate brown eyes, dulled and lifeless. And when he’s hitting Angel with the baseball bat, all he sees is that soft dark hair, tangled artfully on his pillow, arranged as if she were sleeping.

There had been a blissful moment where he had thought she was sleeping. He wants that moment back. He can still remember the happiness upon entering his house and believing her there, the decision he made when he’d seen the rose on his front door ( _I need to tell her that I love her, because God knows we’ve wasted enough time_ ), the smile that he couldn’t quite keep from blooming.

He doesn’t go to school the next day. He stays at home, instead, collecting her things around his apartment. He never really did return her things, mostly because some part of him hoped that they would eventually reconcile and he wouldn’t need to. A leather jacket that still smells of her perfume. A floppy disk labeled  _First Period Presentation_ that had fallen out of her purse. A shopping list that she’d written for him the first time he had her over for dinner. 

_“England, seriously, who doesn’t have ice cream or whipped cream in their house?” Jenny scoffed, staring at the contents of Giles’s refrigerator with obvious disdain. “What do you eat for dessert?”_

_“I’m more of a pastry person, myself,” Giles explained. “Less chance of ruining one of my books.”_

_“Well, yeah, it’s better for the books, but ice cream is the best dessert there is!” Jenny persisted, tugging on Giles’s arm. “That and hot fudge. Ooh, chocolate! You_ do  _have chocolate, right?”_

 _“I’m not_ completely  _out of touch with the modern world, Jenny,” Giles retorted, but he could already feel an involuntary grin beginning. Jenny always seemed to do that to him._

_“I’m writing you a shopping list,” Jenny announced, grabbing a nearby notepad and a pen and beginning to scribble down items. When Giles attempted to look over her shoulder, she shoved him away, playfully. “No peeking, Rupert!” she objected. “You’re just gonna start complaining.”_

_“I resent that,” huffed Giles. The grin hadn’t gone away._

He puts her belongings—the smaller ones—in the top drawer of his bedside table. Opens the list and tries to memorize her handwriting. The loops of her g’s, the little smiley faces she put by things she said were  _absolutely necessary to survive in America._

He eats cinnamon rolls more than usual now, licking his lips when he’s finished. If he doesn’t think about it, he can almost pretend that it’s the lingering taste of her on his mouth.

Two weeks after, Willow gives him the rose quartz necklace, the one Jenny would wear on their more formal dates.

_“It’s got healing powers,” Jenny commented, leaning against his doorframe in a dress that clung attractively to her figure and had one of those necklines that, on Buffy, Giles would deem inappropriately low-cut. On Jenny, however, everything was rather different. “Plus, it goes with my hair, I think, so two birds with one stone.”_

_“It’s quite nice,” said Giles. He was rather enjoying the rose quartz necklace; it fell right in the vicinity of—_

_“My chest?” Jenny commented. “Eyes front, soldier.”_

_Giles turned bright red, jerking his eyes up to meet a giggling Jenny. When it became clear that she wasn’t in any way offended, he replied, “You’re going to make me die of mortification one day, you know.”_

_“Aww. You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.” Jenny moved toward Giles, twining her arms around his neck. “Still. Yes to the necklace, then?”_

_“A definite yes,” Giles agreed, and his hand moved to cup her face, pulling her into a tender kiss._

The rose quartz necklace is worn every single day, underneath his button-down, close to his heart. He remembers kissing her, holding her, burying his face in her hair after a difficult battle and thinking  _Thank God I have Jenny to keep me sane._ He remembers being so in love with her that it hurt to see her afraid. 

Willow pretended to be entirely on Buffy’s side, but sometimes Giles would walk past the computer lab and catch her tidying up Jenny’s classroom, talking reassuringly to the computer teacher. When Xander had inquired, Willow replied stubbornly that it was for extra credit, and refused to elaborate.

He and Willow have tea together on Thursdays now. Sometimes they talk about Jenny, and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes one of them cries, sometimes both of them cry, sometimes neither of them cry but Giles still feels like a part of him is missing.

A part of him  _is_ missing. A part of him died with Jenny. He thinks that maybe up until now he believed in happy endings, in endings where people die but never anyone he loves.  _God,_ he was so naïve.

_“But it’s sweet,” says Jenny, voice low and sleepy, hands playing aimlessly with his hair. His head is pillowed on her lap and he’s halfway asleep, Jenny’s muted television lighting the room with a comforting glow. “Gives me hope, you know?”_

_“About what?” Giles asks, the words slurring together as he nuzzles his cheek into her lap._

_“You’ve seen way more than I have,” Jenny explains. She stops playing with his hair and starts stroking it instead. Giles doesn’t want her to ever stop. “If you still have faith in good winning out—“_

_“I don’t, always,” Giles says, his eyes drifting shut. “I just have faith in you.”_

_Jenny’s hands stop. At first he’s about to shake himself awake and apologize for—something, he isn’t sure what. But then he feels her kiss his cheek and hears her whisper tenderly, “Yeah, well, I’ve got faith in you too, England.”_

Jenny has his heart.

No past tense needed.


	18. Last Friday's Dalliances

From: rgiles@shs.edu

To: jcalendar@shs.edu

Subject: Pertaining to our dalliances last Friday

Ms. Calendar,

I recognize that your school email may not be the most appropriate place to send this, but I’ve no idea how else to get your attention. You haven’t been coming to staff meetings, you don’t stop by the library, and I’m never able to catch you before you leave school. A note on your desk could be more easily intercepted, and since you administrate school emails, I trust that you won’t let this fall into the wrong hands.

That said, I would like to profusely apologize for last Friday. I realize that I may have given you some very mixed signals, and I greatly regret that. Saying that we were inebriated would be true, but using it as an excuse for my inappropriate conduct would be callous and altogether immature. I hope that this hasn’t completely destroyed our work relationship, as I’ve very much enjoyed our conversations on literature and the occult. Again, I apologize, and I hope that you can find it in yourself to forgive me.

Sincerely,

Mr. Giles.

 

From: jcalendar@shs.edu

To: rgiles@shs.edu

Subject: Re: Pertaining to our dalliances last Friday

Rupert, your kissing me isn’t the problem. Your apologizing for it is. Please don’t email me again.

Jenny

 

From: rgiles@shs.edu

To: jcalendar@shs.edu

Subject: Re: Pertaining to our dalliances last Friday

Ms. Calendar,

I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand what you’re trying to imply. I realize that you’re angry at me, and frankly, you have every right to be. I truly wish to make things right between us, but I’m unsure how to if an apology isn’t what you’re after. What would you like me to do?

Mr. Giles

 

From: jcalendar@shs.edu

To: rgiles@shs.edu

Subject: Re: Pertaining to our dalliances last Friday

First of all, I said not to email me again. Second of all, you can’t possibly be serious. What do you  _think_ I want, if not an apology? 

Jenny

 

From: rgiles@shs.edu

To: jcalendar@shs.edu

Subject: Re: Pertaining to our dalliances last Friday

Ms. Calendar,

Ambiguity isn’t going to clear things up for me. Kindly explain to me what it is I can do to properly apologize.

Mr. Giles

 

From: jcalendar@shs.edu

To: rgiles@shs.edu

Subject: Re: Pertaining to our dalliances last Friday

Oh no. No no no. You don’t get to be short with me just because I’m not being clear.  _You_  were the one who kissed  _me_. And Rupert? I wasn’t as inebriated as you think I was.

Jenny

 

From: rgiles@shs.edu

To: jcalendar@shs.edu

Subject: Re: Pertaining to our dalliances last Friday

Ms. Calendar,

We need to talk in person. Would you consider coming to the library during your free period?

Mr. Giles

 

From: jcalendar@shs.edu

To: rgiles@shs.edu

Subject: Re: Pertaining to our dalliances last Friday

No.

Jenny

 

From: rgiles@shs.edu

To: jcalendar@shs.edu

Subject: Re: Pertaining to our dalliances last Friday

Ms. Calendar,

I don’t particularly want to talk about this through a computer screen. It seems impersonal and distancing.

Mr. Giles

 

From: jcalendar@shs.edu

To: rgiles@shs.edu

Subject: Re: Pertaining to our dalliances last Friday

That’s the point.

Jenny

 

From: rgiles@shs.edu

To: jcalendar@shs.edu

Subject: Re: Pertaining to our dalliances last Friday

Ms. Calendar, 

This seems like a conversation that needs to be made personal, especially if you’re implying what I suspect you are.

Mr. Giles

 

From: jcalendar@shs.edu

To: rgiles@shs.edu

Subject: Re: Pertaining to our dalliances last Friday

I don’t like you right now, and it’s comforting to not like you right now, and if I actually talk to you I’m going to go back to caring about you no matter how kindly you let me down, so please just leave this alone. I get that you enjoy having a friend on the staff, because god knows you don’t talk to anyone anyway, but that’s not what I want and I figured it out when you kissed me. Just give me some time and I can be your friend. I just need some time.

Jenny

 

From: rgiles@shs.edu

To: jcalendar@shs.edu

Subject: Re: Pertaining to our dalliances last Friday

Ms. Calendar,

Up until now, I had assumed that your feelings for me were in no way romantic, which would have made my advances extremely inappropriate given the circumstances. I’m beginning to hope that my assumptions were incorrect, as yours most certainly are. I don’t want to be your friend, but I do want you in my life. Please come to the library. We need to talk, and I suspect I’ll stammer a lot, but you deserve to hear me say aloud that I care about you. Very much.

Rupert

 

From: jcalendar@shs.edu

To: rgiles@shs.edu

Subject: Re: Pertaining to our dalliances last Friday

I’m heading over right after I send this email.

Jenny 

* * *

_one week later_

* * *

From: rsnyder@shs.edu

To: jcalendar@shs.edu

Cc: rgiles@shs.edu 

Subject: Inappropriate conduct

Mr. Giles and Ms. Calendar,

As I am sure you will recall, yesterday I came into the library to deliver some paperwork to Mr. Giles and found you two kissing against a bookshelf. Consequently, I have a seminar planned on professional conduct next Tuesday, and your attendance is now mandatory. I expect you both to maintain professional conduct on campus, treating each other as colleagues, regardless of your relationship outside school.

R. Snyder


	19. Absent Male Role Model

“ _Movie_ night?” Giles said indignantly. “With the  _children?_  And you were planning to tell me about this  _when?_ ”

“Well, you’re cooped up in the house pretending you’re trying to get a job, I thought it would be good for us to spend some time with the kids,” Jenny replied testily. “You know, you  _could_ make an effort to socialize, Rupert. You’re a librarian, not a vampire.”

“Unemployed,” Giles corrected her. “And perhaps it’s my choice to stay indoors instead of bothering the children with pleas for attention. Has it occurred to you that you’re merely buying their affection with popcorn?”

Jenny pressed her lips together. “This is about what Professor Walsh said, isn’t it?” she asked. “When we were looking for Buffy?”

“What?” Giles was suddenly on edge.

“About Buffy lacking a male role model. Or something like that.”

Giles stammered incoherently for a few seconds before responding angrily, “I don’t see how this has anything to do with the situation at hand.”

Jenny strode over to him, stopping a few feet away. “ _Rupert_ ,” she said, sounding like she was barely containing herself, “I’d understand if you don’t want to watch Toy Story 2, but if someone who doesn’t even know you or Buffy that well makes a judgment involving you not being there for her enough, the solution is  _not_ to not be there for Buffy.”

“It’s a bloody movie, Jenny, does it really  _matter_ if I go or not?” Giles snapped.

“Yeah, it kind of does!” Jenny exploded. “Because if you don’t go, you’re just going to sit here and wallow about some stupid comment some stupid psychology professor made, and of course I have to go to the movie because I already  _said_ I would, and I’m not going to be able to talk to the kids, who, by the way, are dropping by our house after patrol less and less frequently, because I’m going to be worrying about  _you_ all night! God, Rupert, if you don’t want to be seen as an absent male role model, then  _spend some fucking time with Buffy!_ ”

There was a tentative knock on the door of their apartment.

“ _What?_ ” Jenny all but snarled, whirling. And then all of the fury in her face drained away as Willow opened the door, eyes wide. Jenny’s lips parted, and she looked down, seemingly unable to look Willow in the eye. Giles knew she hated potentially worrying one of the children, especially Willow, who worried enough about everyone else as it was.

“Is everything okay?” Willow asked weakly.

Jenny looked up at Giles. They’d generally tried their best to keep their arguments low key when the children were around. This was the first time anyone had caught a glimpse of what was actually barely a squabble by their standards. Their standards as of late for what constituted an actual fight were quite explosive and awful, and said fights had been happening more and more.

“We’re fine,” said Giles, forcing a smile. At the sight of Willow, his anger was gone now as well; all that was left was the hollow, useless feeling he’d had since Maggie Walsh had told him, in effect, that he’d had no impact on Buffy. Perhaps even before that; he hadn’t felt quite useful to Buffy (or to any of the children) ever since Sunnydale High blew up. “Is there something you need, Willow?”

“Oh, um, I—I just left my, my jacket,” Willow stammered. She was staring at them as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, which, to be fair, was an appropriate reaction. “That I forgot. And I’m getting it now.” She looked up at them anxiously. “Whatever’s going on, it’s going to be okay, right?” she added. “Like, apocalypse, demons, whatever it is that’s making you guys all bite-each-other’s-heads-off kind of tense?”

“Yes,” said Giles and Jenny at the same time. Giles slipped his hand into Jenny’s. She interlaced her fingers with his and smiled a little sadly. 

“Okay,” said Willow, glancing down at their joined hands. She didn’t look completely convinced, but she did look less worried as she exited the apartment.

Jenny turned to him. There were a few moments of silence before she spoke.

“Look,” she said quietly. “I love you. I am  _always_ gonna love you, whether you’re an absent male father figure or a dork who alphabetizes all the books in this house or whatever’s going on with you. But we need to be able to talk about these things.” She reached up and stroked his face, thumb brushing his cheek. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t look livid anymore either. “Please try and talk to me,” she added.

Giles swallowed, staring down at his shoes. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if I’m even—” His voice caught. “Needed,” he finished.

Jenny nodded, half to herself. “Sometimes I worry that I don’t make much difference in your life,” she said carefully.

Stunned, Giles looked up. “Jenny, that’s—” he began.

Jenny placed a finger to his mouth, silencing him, and continued, “I feel like I can’t possibly help you with how much you doubt yourself, this year especially. And I feel like I’m never able to help you enough, or be able to tell you what you need to hear.” She looked at him, eyes bright. “But would you miss me if I wasn’t here?”

“Of course,” said Giles without even having to think about it. He imagined standing here, alone, not having someone to talk to. Not having someone who noticed he needed to talk. He rested his forehead against Jenny’s.

“I kinda figured,” Jenny said, and quirked a hesitant smile. Her hand on his cheek moved to his shoulder, squeezing lightly in reassurance. “That’s what I mean.” 

He wound an arm around her waist. “I’m a Watcher,” he said. “Her Watcher. What am I supposed to do if she doesn’t need me?”

Jenny was silent for a few seconds, and then, “I don’t know, England, but I think you should wait until she’s outright ignoring you.”

“She’s always ignored me,” said Giles, not without a hint of bitterness.

“Yeah, well, so do I, but that doesn’t stop us from being happy,” said Jenny. She raised his hand to her mouth, kissed the knuckles. “Most of the time.”

Giles felt a rush of love for her. “Your ability to put up with me is impossible to understand,” he said, throat tight.

“Hey, I still haven’t figured out why you’re still with me, so,” Jenny raised her head and smiled at him, eyes bright, “that’s love, I guess.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’re gonna be okay,” she whispered.

“Promise?” said Giles quietly.

Jenny looked up at him. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe. Yes. You’re better at this than me.”

Giles almost laughed. As it was, he managed a grin, and felt a bit less useless than he had lately. He leant down, resting his forehead against hers. “I’ve no idea how I’d manage without you, Jenny,” he murmured.

“You’d pull through,” Jenny replied. “You always do. You’d just be…” She trailed off.

“Lonelier,” said Giles, and she kissed his forehead.


	20. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moving more things over from my tumblr!! if you want more jenny content & ramblings (and more frequent little drabbles) i'm on tumblr as dreadfulcalendarwoman

Jenny’s been kind of out of it for a good few days. Things are blurred and loud and colorful, and the world is bigger and brighter than she remembered it being last time she was alive, so mostly she’s been in Rupert’s bed with broth, a lot of pillows, and Rupert stroking her hair. He hasn’t left her side for a moment unless it’s to make her food. She gets the sense that he’s scared she’ll disappear.

Thoughts are hard to come by, what with the whole getting-reaccustomed-to-being-alive thing, but Jenny can  _feel_ again, and she feels a warm flicker of happiness that isn’t going away. She doesn’t feel quite like herself. Or maybe she’s back to feeling like herself and that’s why everything’s so strange.

Rupert’s saying something in a low murmur. His voice is soothing, and he smells nice, something she’d forgotten about back when she was busy being dead. She can’t concentrate on what he’s saying (though she thinks she catches the words  _love_ and  _darling_ ), so she snuggles into him and kisses him on the cheek. 

Rupert’s voice catches, and he stops talking, and suddenly it occurs to Jenny that she’s  _missed_ him for so long she’s forgotten what being content felt like. She’s missed him, and he’s here with his arms around her, and why are they not kissing? They should be kissing. Jenny grabs the lapels of his suit jacket and pulls him in, hard.

She feels him gasp against her mouth. She feels him. She feels. Jenny’s almost drunk on sensation, kissing his mouth, his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, any part of his face she can reach. She’s fairly certain that the shattering noise was the bowl of broth falling off the bed, but can’t bring herself to care all that much about it.

She’s remembering now, in bits and pieces. Laughter. There had been so much happiness when they were in love. They’d danced in his living room, and held hands in staff meetings, and lent each other books. Jenny wonders if he still has that book she lent him before Angelus. She bets he does. He’s sentimental like that. He did keep her leather jacket, after all.

She says his name, tender and breathless, pulling away. Says it again, because the look on his face is something she wants to see all the time. He’s stunned, eyes wide, a soft smile on his face like he’s only just starting to believe she’s real. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, says her name like it’s a blessing, and oh god she didn’t knowshe would  _ever_  be this happy again.


	21. Manipulative and Seductive

Wesley was smirking when Jenny came into the library. It was eerie. Usually he was doing his best impression of a puffed-up peacock. Jenny would feel bad for the guy if he hadn’t taken Rupert’s job and didn’t seem hell-bent on belittling the man she loved at every opportunity, particularly delighting in doing it in front of Buffy. Buffy, of course, found it ridiculous, but Jenny was furious at the entire situation.

She’d found, however, that ignoring Wesley elicited much more of a reaction than provoking him. Completely ignoring him, to be clear. Since his arrival, she hadn’t once shown any indication of registering the fact that Rupert was no longer officially Buffy’s Watcher, and she could tell that Wesley was quite miffed by this.

“Ah, Ms. Calendar,” said Wesley, still with that strangely self-satisfied smirk. “I was just talking to your…ah… _companion._ ” 

Jenny looked around the room for explanations. Buffy was gritting her teeth, Willow was looking hurt and upset, Xander looked confused, and Faith and Rupert both looked like they wanted to set Wesley on fire with their eyes. “Everything okay?” she asked Rupert a little warily, still ignoring Wesley.

“I’m going to beat the living shit out of him,” said Faith furiously.

“Don’t,” said Willow hurriedly. 

Jenny turned to Buffy. “What’s going on?” she inquired.

“I have finally figured out why I, a highly qualified Watcher, am ostracized, while you, a liar and a spy for the vengeance-driven Kalderash clan,” Wesley informed her, “are accepted easily into the Scooby Gang and treated with respect.”

Jenny had to bite back a retort about her not being a mindless Council drone. Looking to Rupert, she said lightly, “So, should we get started on the briefing?”

“It is because you have manipulated Giles via seduction,” said Wesley, loudly and sounding extremely proud of himself.

Jenny stopped. She stared at him. Forgetting about trying to ignore Wesley, she said incredulously, “Are you serious?”

“I’m gonna kill you if you keep going, Wes,” said Faith loudly. “I’m gonna—”

“Faith, hold your tongue,” said Wesley pointedly.

“Yeah, Faith, I kind of wanna hear this,” said Jenny, and made a point to smile at Wesley quite sweetly. This was the stupidest thing she’d heard all day, and she’d just been in a conference where Principal Snyder had ranted for a good five minutes about there being too many water fountains at school. She was actually pretty interested in Wesley’s logic.

“My resources at the Council did some research—”

“Invasion of privacy,” said Rupert in a low, dangerously angry voice.

“Mr. Giles, as a Watcher, I am entitled to knowledge about civilians,” said Wesley quite calmly. “And Ms. Calendar’s background is sketchy at best. Growing up with the clan that cursed Angel, moving here to spy on him—it’s rather likely that, if you hadn’t figured her out in time, she would have harmed Buffy in order to finally kill Angelus.”

“You say one more word—” Faith began. Jenny fixed her with a firm look. 

“Ms. Calendar seems to have made it back into your good graces via seduction and false promises—”

“Did you read the part of the report where she was tortured by Angelus for five hours?” said Rupert sharply. “Or is that not enough proof for you?”

“On the contrary. Angelus seems to have been the only one aware of how much of a threat Ms. Calendar actually is,” Wesley continued. “She has lied to all of you about her identity, about her motives, about her family, and yet you still seem to foolishly trust her due to your loyalty to Mr. Giles, while he is wrapped entirely around her little finger.” 

“Right,” said Jenny dryly. “God, how awful and murderous I am. Better watch out, Wesley, or I’ll call in my vengeance-driven family on you.” She tried to keep her face impassive, but there was a beginning flicker of fear. She’d lost the faith of the Scoobies once before, and sure, Faith cared about her, but maybe the other kids wouldn’t— 

“Shut up.”

There was an incredibly stunned silence as all eyes turned to Buffy.

“You have  _no_ idea what kind of sacrifices Ms. Calendar has made for us,” said Buffy fiercely. “She got chased down and nearly strangled when she was trying to recurse Angel. Not kill him. Recurse him. Because she wanted to make me happy.”

“Yes,” Wesley said, sounding somewhat nervous, “well, Buffy, she may have manipulated Giles, but  _you_  must understand that—”

“What I  _understand_?” said Buffy incredulously. “What I understand is that you’re talking from some badly researched data without even checking with any of us. Angelus tried to kill Ms. Calendar twice, and she didn’t say a word against me when she found out he’d come back. She could be the most resentful person in the world, after what she’s been through, but she sticks around because she  _cares_ about us.” 

She looked Wesley straight in the eye. “And if you try and insult her in order to prove that you’re better than her, well, then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought you were, because Ms. Calendar? She’d  _never_ do that to you.”

Jenny felt almost dizzy with surprise and a wonderful sort of love.

“Actually, she’s been straight-up ignoring you for the past few weeks,” Xander added. “We get that you’re bitter, dude, but we all love Ms. Calendar.”

“I’m still gonna punch him,” said Faith.

“I’ll help,” said Willow, very seriously.

“I would like to intervene,” said Giles to the girls, “and suggest that  _I_ do the punching.”

Wesley was sputtering. Jenny looked over at Buffy, who gave her a bright, sweet smile, and felt a returning grin steal over her face.


	22. Post-Acathla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written before i started my becoming au!! it could kind of fit into bravery? i'm not sure. i haven't finished writing bravery yet.

Blood.

Blood on the cement, dripping down in front of her. Fangs in her neck, nails digging tightly into her skin—

“Jenny!”

Jenny opens her eyes. It’s dark, and someone’s holding her tightly. Too tightly too much she pulls away, almost falling off the edge of the bed. “No,” she’s saying. “No, no, I can’t, you won’t—”

Rupert’s hands catch hers.

She remembers again.

“Oh,” she says, voice shaking and hoarse. Maybe it wasn’t so much  _saying_ as it was  _shouting_. “Okay.”

“Do you want some water?” Rupert doesn’t sound all that stable himself.

“Yes. Please.” 

Rupert helps her sit up, and when he steps away from her in the dark of her bedroom, Jenny wants to blurt out  _don’t leave me,_ but he’s turning on the light and the room is lit in a warm glow. Not the mansion. No Angelus. Warm glow, warm bed, sunrise just around the corner. 

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. He sounds like he might cry. Jenny wants to tell him  _don’t,_ or  _I’m fine,_ or something else that’s comforting but maybe not entirely true. The words won’t come out. “I’ll—get you water, darling.”

“Okay,” says Jenny again. Rupert leaves, and she’s left in her bedroom, shaking.

She’s glad he’s here. She is. She doesn’t know where she’d be if he wasn’t here to help her through this, and she doesn’t regret that it was her Angelus chose to torture. She wouldn’t have been able to handle seeing Rupert hurt, or knowing that he’d gone through this kind of pain and trauma. That would have been worse than this, somehow, a small yet strangely soothing fact that she clings to now.

She can hear the sound of the faucet running, Rupert hurrying around her kitchen. His apartment’s bedroom had stairs, and hers didn’t; for caretaking purposes, he’s been staying with her. It’s good to have him here. Comforting. The apartment feels big and terrifying when he’s not there, especially since she’s supposed to stay in bed as much as possible.

Rupert comes back in with the cup of water. “Drink this, love,” he says, sitting down on the bed next to her. The pet names, sweet ones, had started a few days after she woke up, and his eyes are always worried and loving when he looks at her. She misses when worry wasn’t the prevalent feature on his face. She misses when she could kiss it away. 

“Thank you,” Jenny says. Rupert reaches out, stroking her hair, and she tamps down the lingering nausea as she remembers Angelus doing the same. She won’t let him ruin this for her. This is Rupert’s hand in her hair. Rupert’s hand, not anyone else’s, his eyes are soft and he loves her and he’d shouted, rattled the chair, begged Angelus to kill him but spare her—

Jenny utters a single broken sob. 

“I’m sorry,” says Rupert again, and his voice catches. “I’m so—”

“None of this is your fault,” Jenny tells him firmly. Strangely firmly, for someone who kind of wants to throw up. She always was good at repressing things, though. 

“I can still be sorry,” Rupert quips, but it sort of falls flat. 

“Yeah, I know.” Jenny tries to smile. It feels like that time she tried to smile at him in the hallway, after Eyghon, only this time they’re in love and that’s somehow both better and worse. She takes a sip of water. It helps, a little.

“Jenny—”

“We’re in this together, Rupert,” says Jenny, and means it. “I know what I signed up for. This is part of the drill.”

“You deserve so much better,” Rupert tells her, and there’s a mixture of pride and a horrible sadness in his voice. “Certainly more than this town.”

“Yeah, well, that means losing you,” Jenny replies simply.

She’s not one for saying things like that, usually. Maybe it’s the nightmares. Maybe it’s these last few months being a reminder that, no matter how much they deserve one, she and Rupert probably won’t get much of a happy ending. But Jenny’s determined to have a happy middle, at least, and she loves Rupert.

Rupert nods and leans in, kissing her forehead softly and lightly before gently trailing tender kisses down the side of her face. That sort of thing makes Jenny almost feel, for a moment, that she might be safe one day.


	23. Who's The Lucky Lady?

“What’s love supposed to be like?”

Jenny looked up from her sandwich. She would wish, later, that she’d had a more immediately philosophical response, but her mouth was full of peanut butter and jelly and all that came out was “Mmwhuh?”

Willow sat down next to her. She was twisting at her sleeves. “I thought,” she said awkwardly, “with Oz, and then…it’s different, now.”

“Hfmg,” said Jenny, remembered that she still had a mouth full of sandwich, and swallowed, taking a sip of milk to wash it down before saying, “Hold up, Willow, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t,” Willow turned pink, “it’s not, you know, I mean, if it was, but I don’t think, but if it is, right?” She looked up anxiously at Jenny.

“Sweetie,” said Jenny patiently. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“I—I don’t know if I can,” said Willow uncomfortably.

Jenny hesitated, and then a new suspicion came to her mind. Choosing her words carefully, she said, “My girlfriend in college, Christine, she was really flirtatious and sweet with a lot of other girls, and I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it, so I had to figure it out myself. And then I got kinda jealous, and there were some issues, and we ended up breaking up, which was  _devastating._ ”

Willow was looking at her with suddenly wide eyes.

“So I want to be here for you,” Jenny finished. “College is a tough, weird time.”

Willow’s face seemed to fall a little. “Because you were dating girls?” she said nervously.

Jenny smiled slightly. “Willow, I’m attracted to girls  _and_  guys,” she said. “I just happened to get a little clingy in college, that’s all. Christine was a very serious relationship for me.”

“Really?” said Willow, sounding unusually hopeful. 

“Who’s the lucky lady?” Jenny asked playfully.

Willow turned even pinker. “Was I that obvious?”

“Not really,” said Jenny, trying her best to be reassuring. “I’m just pretty perceptive.”

“It’s different with her,” said Willow, soft and thoughtful. “Tara. Her nose does a little wrinkly thing, a-and her eyes get all big and sparkly when she’s excited about something, but it doesn’t happen a lot because she’s so shy and she gets really nervous. And I want to spend lots and lots of time with her, but I also really,  _really_ want to kiss her.” She looked up at Jenny. “I’m afraid I’m just…I don’t know.”

“Faking it?” Jenny suggested, and took another bite of sandwich.

“Maybe?” Willow winced a little. “That’s stupid, right? It’s stupid.” 

Jenny shook her head, swallowing. “It’s not,” she said. “It’s new, and you want Tara to be happy, and you don’t want to go after her and end up in a relationship with her when it might be just a phase, right?”

“We kind of kissed already,” said Willow very fast. “A couple times.”

Jenny blinked. “Oh.”

“I—I mean, I probably should have talked to you first, or, or, maybe talked to Buffy, or Xander—”

Jenny held up a hand and gave Willow a reassuring smile. “Willow, I’m not upset. I’m just trying to figure out the advice I need to give you.” She considered her options, and then, “Look, you obviously care about Tara if you’re worried about hurting her feelings.”

“But what if it’s not—”

Jenny gave her a gently pointed look. “Love,” she said, “isn’t something with a dictionary definition. The way I felt about Christine isn’t the way I feel about Rupert. The way I feel about Rupert isn’t the way I feel about Faith.”

“I’d hope not,” Willow quipped.

“You’re gonna know if it’s love,” Jenny told her, and reached across the table to squeeze Willow’s hand. “You might have to wait, but this is something only you’ll be able to figure out.”

“But Tara’s  _good,_ ” said Willow, eyes shining. “She’s amazing. She deserves better than some weird girl going through a phase with her. She deserves someone sweet, and nice, who cares about her and wants to go on dates with her and kiss her.”

“Do you want that someone to be someone who isn’t you?” Jenny asked simply.

Willow looked startled. Softly, she said, “I don’t—want her to be with someone else. I want her to be with me. I just don’t know if—if it’s—”

“Hey. You’ve got time.” Jenny grinned. “I believe in you.”

“I believe in you too!” said Willow cheerfully. Then, “I mean, I know this was supposed to be a me-specific pep talk, but—”

“I know,” said Jenny, and smiled at her. Willow smiled back.


	24. Simplicity

There was a strange normalcy to the outing. Rupert got dressed in one of his usual suits, the only difference being that he took out one of his older ties. Jenny remembered him wearing that the day they first met, actually, which was sweet and fitting, so she found her leather jacket and the miniskirt she’d had on at that first faculty meeting. They left the house with their hands entwined.

Music played in the car, soft and classical. Neither of them spoke. It wasn’t a strained silence, nor a somber one; it was comforting and somehow warm.

Marriage. That was a pretty big thing, but it felt just like a part of today’s routine. They were going to City Hall to pick up the marriage license, and they were going to the diner across the street, and they were going to go home.

Part of Jenny wondered if there was something wrong with them for not wanting more, for not pushing for one of those big, gorgeous weddings. But a week ago, Joyce had died, and it just didn’t seem right to get married in a big celebration after that. They’d been planning, sure, with a marriage license and a ceremony and a tasteful wedding dress for Jenny, but this was enough. They were enough.

She’d never thought of herself as the marrying type, and the hopeless romantic in her always imagined that if she did get married, it would be extravagant and wonderful. Looking over at Rupert, though, who was driving with a warm, content little smile on his face (and  _god_ , that was one of the most wonderful smiles she’d seen on him), Jenny felt a simple kind of joy. It wasn’t a burning passion or an excited glee at the thought of being with Rupert, it was a quiet,  _certain well, of course_.

Marriage was more of a formality, really, with them. It felt like they’d been married for a long time already. 

“I love you,” said Jenny, breaking the silence as they pulled up to City Hall.

Rupert blinked, turned to her, and smiled so brightly that she felt warmed by it. Leaning forward in the front of the car, he reached up, cupping her face with one hand as he kissed her sweetly.

Jenny kissed him back. It felt like it always had, and that realization was what made the kiss so special. She rested her hands on his shoulders, thought  _my husband_  just to try the words out in her head. 

Rupert pulled away first, but slowly. “And I you, darling,” he murmured, tucking a lock of hair gently behind her ear. 

They stayed like that for a moment, before Rupert sat up a little straighter, reluctantly letting his hands drop. “Well,” he said, and gave her that sideways little grin. “Shall we, then?”

Jenny extended a hand to him. He took it, kissed the knuckles (she laughed, surprised), and let go, giving her one last smile before exiting the car. Jenny got out herself, heading over to the front of City Hall and waiting for Rupert to lock the car.

He kissed her again on the front steps, winding an arm around her waist. It was tender, again, and he was slow to pull away. When he did, he took her hand, their fingers interlacing, and Jenny had to bite her lip to keep from smiling like an idiot.

_My husband._

She didn’t place weight on the words. Never had, never would. They didn’t hold any special kind of significance to her. But she knew that they did to Rupert, and she knew that it wasn’t just anyone he would want to marry, and that made a world of difference when she was soon going to be able to think  _my husband, Rupert Giles._

“So,” said Jenny lightly as they climbed the stairs hand in hand, “you still putting up a fight against Rupert Calendar?”

“Oh, for—” Rupert uttered an indignant huff. “I had agreed already that name changes would be entirely unnecessary.”

“Yeah, for me, because Calendar is a cool name, but Giles sounds all stiff and British.”

“There is  _no_ one I have met before you who is named Calendar,” Rupert pointed out stubbornly.

“See? We’d be unique!” Jenny nudged Rupert playfully. She could tell he was trying not to laugh. “The Calendars.”

“If you mean  _unique_ as in we’d sound like a pair of wall decorations, then yes, dear, we would be quite unique,” Rupert quipped.

“Are you calling me a wall decoration?” Jenny inquired with mock annoyance. “Oh, oh!” She nudged Rupert again as they entered City Hall, a sudden, unexpectedly wonderful feeling rising in her. “The marriage license, Rupert, it’s gonna be that way—”

Rupert abruptly stopped walking, and when Jenny turned in surprise to look at him, his eyes were bright and soft. “My Jenny,” he said. His voice was shaking a bit, but he was smiling in a way she had never seen before. “My love.”

Jenny smiled gently back at him, took their joined hands and held them to her heart.


	25. Caring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jenny's-a-ghost au.

Jenny couldn’t stop crying. Which was—shit, she shouldn’t be the one crying, she should be the one apologizing, and she  _knew_ it would hurt Rupert to see her cry and know he couldn’t do anything about it, but she  _couldn’t stop crying._ Rupert, in his hospital bed, was trying to comfort her, in the soothing tone he’d used once when she’d woken up from an Eyghon nightmare, shaking and curling into his chest. Somehow, this made everything exponentially worse. 

He still loved her. He was too good, and loving, and wonderful, and somehow she’d managed to ruin his life by making him think he could be happy. He deserved better than some selfish dead technopagan who would throw away the entire world for him. 

“I’m sorry,” Jenny tried to say. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I love you.” She was pretty sure most of it was coming out fairly garbled. She was also pretty sure that she hadn’t cried this hard back when she was alive. Maybe it was a ghost thing.

“Jenny—” Rupert’s voice caught. Fuck. She was making  _him_ cry now. “Look at me,” he said, voice shaking.

Jenny didn’t want to look up, but a flash of memory came to her. Rupert’s blood, so much of it, and Xander helping him up while she was forced to watch and do nothing. She could do this, at least. She met his eyes as best as she could.

“I love you,” he said.

And yeah, of course she’d known that. But he hadn’t flat-out said it to her before, not like this. She’d come back, and they’d gotten swept up in the  _whys_ and the  _hows_ and trying to figure out what their relationship was, and he had never said it directly and with such a simple certainty. His eyes were soft and bright.

“You shouldn’t,” said Jenny, voice shaking. “Idiot.”

“You’re wonderful, and kind—”

“Kind my ass, Rupert, I would have let the entire world die if it meant he’d stop hurting you. That sound kind to you?”

“Darling.”

“ _Don’t_ call me—”

Rupert sat up in his bed and raised a hand to her face. He hadn’t tried to do that, not since she came back. Jenny closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to feel him touching her. It scared her, a little, that she couldn’t remember, so she opened her eyes to look at him, waiting to hear what he had to say.

“Jenny, if I saw you manipulated by Drusilla, I don’t know if I’d have been able to hold out for as long as you did,” he said, soft and clear. “As it was, knowing that you were there made me able to stay strong enough that they needed to bring her in in the first place. I doubt I’d be alive were you not there.”

The words meant little to Jenny. Meaningless, really. She wasn’t good, she wasn’t anything, she was a failure and Angelus wouldn’t have hurt the man she loved if she had thought to intervene sooner. If she’d done things right, she wouldn’t be dead and Rupert wouldn’t be in a hospital bed right now. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice shaking.

“Don’t—” Rupert’s voice caught. “I’d forgive you anything.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I  _will,_ Jenny, regardless of whether or not you think I should. I  _love_ you.”

“Stop.”

“I love—”

“ _Stop,”_ Jenny said fiercely, and turned, moving fast away from the bed. He shouldn’t look at her like that. He wasn’t supposed to. She fucked up and she didn’t deserve this kind of love, because all it was going to do was hurt Rupert even more when she let him down again. “I don’t. I can’t. I have to—”

“Don’t leave,” said Rupert, and for the first time, there was a note of panic in his voice. “Jenny, please.”

She moved through the wall and into the hallway, sinking down and curling into a ball on the floor. She could hear Rupert calling for her, she was pretty sure Xander was hurrying in to check on him—

And someone was sitting down next to her.

“Go away,” said Jenny brusquely.

“No,” Willow replied simply.

Jenny drew in a pained breath and looked up. “I need some time,” she said.

“Yeah, well, we all do.” Willow smiled a little sadly. “I’m sorry.”

Jenny decided that she didn’t particularly feel like being distant with a teenage kid who already had enough on her plate as it was. No one had found Buffy yet. “I am too,” she said tiredly. “You holding up okay?”

Willow shrugged. “My favorite teacher’s a ghost,” she said dismally. “I don’t know where my best friend is. My other best friend broke his arm, and Giles is in hospital, and my boyfriend’s really worried about me all the time.”

“Well, hey, this year you got a boyfriend,” Jenny tried to quip. It kind of fell flat. She sighed and leaned against the wall, careful not to lean far enough to fall through it. “I never wanted to hurt anyone,” she said. “I don’t think I’m very good at what I’m doing.”

“I think you’re pretty great,” said Willow, in a strangely careful kind of way, “but I also think that that’s not what you want to hear.”

“You’ve always been a smart cookie,” said Jenny wryly. “First time I saw your work, I was tempted to bump you up to one of the AP classes.” After a moment of consideration, she added, “I don’t know what I want to hear.”

“I can try and help you figure it out!” suggested Willow. “Here, turn this way, Ms. Calendar, you have to look at me for this.”

Jenny obliged. She could make out voices from Rupert’s room, Rupert saying something to Xander in a shaking, panicked voice, and she wanted to comfort him but whenever she tried he always seemed hell-bent on making sure she was okay first, and really she couldn’t deal with that at the moment when—

“You’re awful,” said Willow hesitantly, as though trying out the words. Jenny blinked, brought with startling speed back to the girl in front of her. “You’re a failure. You fail at everything you do. Fail, fail, fail.” There was a silliness to her voice, now, a lightness to her tone, that took away the weight of the words spinning around in Jenny’s head. “Everyone hates you, no one loves you, and the people who do love you are obviously just faking it or delusional, because you’re  _such_ a loser. And your fashion sense is weird. Who wears leather jackets? Or clunky heels? Plus your hair is way too shiny and your eyes are really big.”

Jenny laughed, and was startled by the sound. Willow seemed to find Jenny’s expression funny, because she giggled too, and said, “Ms. Calendar, caring about people can be scary, and big, and sometimes it gets you hurt. Maybe you should consider the fact that no one around you really minds that?”

“Willow—”

“Caring,” said Willow, with an astuteness unusual even for her, “is worth pain. And I think Giles knows that.”

There was a strange silence in the hospital corridor before Jenny said slowly, “I always thought I’d be the one giving you relationship advice, not the other way around.”

“Oh, I-I mean, if it wasn’t good—” Willow began nervously.

“No.” Jenny said slowly. “No, it was—it made a lot of sense. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you’re back,” Willow replied simply. She hesitated before adding, “Can I tell you what I want you to hear?”

Jenny wasn’t sure for a moment, but she figured that Willow was doing pretty well in the making-her-feel-strangely-okay department, so she might as well give it a shot. She nodded.

Willow waited, visibly mulling her words over, and said, “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re really pretty. You make me feel listened to, and you used to always let me hang out in your classroom—you know, back when you had one—plus you care about Giles a lot, which is amazing because he deserves someone like that. And I think you’re pretty great at what you’re doing, and I couldn’t stop crying when I found out you were dead, and I started crying when I found out you came back but it was because I was almost too happy to believe it and I was scared that there would be some kind of catch.” She reached out, miming squeezing Jenny’s shoulder, and added, “And you’re a Scooby.”

Jenny wanted to say something really, really meaningful and good, but couldn’t quite think of it. It was vastly different to look at Willow and see trust than to look at Rupert and see trust. Rupert trusted her because he was in love with her. Willow trusted her because somehow, Jenny had earned it. “Thank you,” she said again. It seemed wildly inadequate.

Willow nodded, and gave her a quirky little smile. “You’re pretty cool for a ghost,” she said. “Way better than the poltergeist.”

“I’m flattered,” said Jenny dryly, and smiled back.


	26. A Part of the Household

“What are you thinking about when it comes to college?”

Faith jumped, turning in her chair to face Jenny. She seemed almost startled by the question. “Huh?”

Jenny sat down in the chair next to Faith, placing the books in her arms onto the library table. “Colleges,” she repeated. “I mean, you’ve reenrolled in Sunnydale High for senior year, you’re getting great grades—”

“C’s and D’s aren’t  _great grades,_ Ms. C,” said Faith a little bitterly.

“Considering what you’ve gone through, I’m honestly amazed that you manage to show up to school at all,” said Jenny, hoping that Faith could hear the pride in her voice. “You’re a great girl, Faith, and I think you could get into some pretty good colleges.”

“With C’s and D’s,” Faith said skeptically.

“With financial aid,” Jenny said carefully, feeling suddenly nervous. “I was,” she looked down at her hands for a moment before meeting Faith’s eyes again, “I’d like to pay for your first year of college.”

Faith stared at her, eyes wide, and didn’t say anything.

“I think you could do great things, and I think you deserve the opportunity to try and do them,” Jenny continued. “I talked it over with Rupert, and the Council’s technically supposed to pay for college tuition, but for your first year of college I thought—” She reached out and lightly touched Faith’s arm. “I want you to know someone cares about you,” she said. 

Faith drew in a shaking breath. “After what I did—”

“You’re so much better than you give yourself credit for.”

“You shouldn’t—”

“Faith.” Jenny wasn’t quite sure how to voice what she wanted to say. She tried anyway. “I want you to not only believe me when I say that I care about you, but to understand  _why_ I do. And I know that it’s kind of hard to get there, because I’m still kind of working through understanding why  _I’m_  loved, but I’m going to be there with you. You’ve been alone long enough.”

Faith shook her head wordlessly.

“Yeah, I know.” Jenny sat back in the chair and ran a hand through her hair. “Kinda hard to let yourself start hoping. I’ll still be here until you do.”

“What happens if you leave after that?” Faith blurted out, almost involuntarily.

Jenny smiled wryly. “Then you’ve got my full permission to punch me in the face.”

Faith bit her lip. “I couldn’t,” she said, sounding somewhat reluctant to admit it. Jenny tried to keep her face calm and level, but she felt a little flutter of joy that surprised her in its intensity; she’d meant to reach out to Faith because she thought Faith needed it, but the fact that Faith cared about her meant more to her than she thought it would.

Now she kind of got why Rupert ducked his head and grinned whenever Buffy went into a giggle fit while talking to Willow. Not like she’d ever do anything Cruciamentum-level fucked up to Faith. Faith, this  _kid_ who acted so much older than she was and pretended she didn’t like marshmallows in her hot chocolate. Jenny was starting to realize that somewhere along the line, her reaching out to Faith had stopped being about her thinking it was the right thing to do. 

“I’m glad,” said Jenny, and managed a playful grin. “Rupert said that Slayer punches kinda hurt.”

“Kinda? I could kick your ass if I wanted to,” Faith retorted, and finally grinned back. “You’re lucky I don’t.”

“I am,” Jenny agreed gamely. “Now, about colleges?”

Faith hesitated, then said, “Can I have some time to think about it?”

“All the time you need,” Jenny reassured her. “Hey, if you want to just take a year off before college, you’ve still got the guest room at our house. You would have to help a little more with dish duty, though.” 

“It’s Giles’s fault,” said Faith immediately. “He’s the only one that uses, like,  _dishes_ and stuff.”

“Fair point,” said Jenny thoughtfully, “but you’re still a part of the household, so you’ve gotta pull your weight, okay?” She nudged Faith lightly.

There was a strange, touched look on Faith’s face. She looked down, letting her hair fall in her face to hide it, and said, “A part of the household, huh?”

“For as long as you want to be,” Jenny replied, and reached over to squeeze Faith’s shoulder. 

A beat, and then, “What if I wanted to be there for college?” Faith looked up, visibly nervous and clearly trying to hide it. “I could stay here, in Sunnydale, and live with you guys, and take classes at the college in town—they let all kinds of losers in there, Buffy said that kid from last year who almost got bit because he walked into a pole at night and knocked himself out is at UC Sunnydale now.”

“Is that what you want?” Jenny asked simply.

“Yeah.  _Yes,_ ” said Faith with unusual vehemence. Hastily, she added, “Someone needs to be there to make sure you don’t, you know, burn down the house tryin’ to cook or something.”

“I’m glad I’ve got you, then,” said Jenny, and smiled at her. Faith smiled back, and for the first time since Jenny had met her, it didn’t have a hint of guardedness.


	27. Ultimatum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this for sophie!! it's too small to gift to her but i'm going to write that here anyway.

“So,” says Jenny. She’s sitting on top of her tombstone, fiddling with a few blades of grass. “You gonna let me go?”

She asks it playfully, but Giles knows that there’s a seriousness to the question. “You want to stay,” he says carefully.

“I’m not going to,” says Jenny. “There’s a natural order to things. I’m not supposed to stay.” 

“Then you shouldn’t have come back,” says Giles roughly, and frames her face with his hand. Jenny’s eyes flutter briefly shut at his touch, as though she’s trying to memorize the moment. He can feel her, just barely, as though there’s a thin sheet of fabric separating them.

“I’m kinda selfish,” Jenny replies, and quirks one of her dry little smiles. There’s a horrible sadness to it. “I’m going to have to go.”

“Don’t.”

“It’s not up to you.”

“I’m the one who has to let go.”

Jenny’s smile fades. “Yeah,” she says. After a moment, “I didn’t count on you wanting me to stay so badly.”

“You didn’t—” Exasperated, Giles sits down next to her on the top of the tombstone. “Do you know how much I love you?” he says, and he finds that his voice was shaking. “Did you, then?”

“I think I hoped,” Jenny replies, as if she knows that that’s not the answer Giles is looking for. She keeps her eyes trained on her shoes. Giles wonders if she’d have lived were she not wearing those ridiculous clunky heels. He remembers the way they sounded in the halls, the distinctive noise that was somewhere between a tap and a thud. He wonders if he’ll forget things like that, later on. 

“I loved you a lot,” Jenny says, awkwardly breaking the silence her voice stumbling and uncertain. Giles gets the sense that she isn’t used to romance, or poetry, and he wishes that they’d had the time to learn it together. “More than I thought I could.” She looks up at him, finally, and reaches up with her free hand, tracing his mouth with her fingers. 

“I rather understand that,” Giles murmurs.

Jenny shakes her head slightly, lets her hand drop. “I don’t think you do,” she says. “I never intended to let myself love anyone. I was doing a pretty good job of it until I met you, you know that?”

In another world, she’s telling him this over morning coffee, her hair tied up in a messy bun, a smile lingering in her face. Giles wants that other world, where the way she loves him is a promise of happiness and not a reminder of tragedy. 

“I happen to know the feeling of secret-keeping quite well, dear,” he says. 

“You never called me that when I was alive,” Jenny quips. “What, does it take me dying for you to treat me right?” And then she stops, and the little smile fades off her face, and she’s saying, “Oh, oh, Rupert,  _no,_ ” and tugging at his sleeve, and he realizes that he must be crying. 

He tries to compose himself. It doesn’t seem to be working. “You were so good,” he says. “You were one of the most forgiving people I’ve known. You cared so much.”

“That’s not something I hear a lot,” says Jenny quietly. He looks up, and she says, “Kids come to my grave, you know? Flowers and all that. A few of them bring roses, which isn’t exactly ideal, but Buffy always stops by during patrol and cleans them up. Really sweet of her, actually. I think of it as our little thing—” 

“Jenny.”

“Yeah, I know. Explanation. I just—” Jenny looks at him with an expression that’s almost helpless. Her voice is thick, as if she’s trying to suppress tears herself. “They all say I was so smart, and so pretty, and I gave good tests, and a lot of kids apparently had a crush on me, and I was such a good teacher and super funny and not one of them has said that I was caring. You’re the only one who saw that in me before anything else.”

“Jenny.”

“Do you know how much I love you?” Jenny looks up, eyes oddly bright for a ghost, echoing his words. “Did you, then? I would never blame you for not knowing, or not loving me. I just wanted you to know I loved you. Love you.” She smiles wryly. “The living can move on,” she says. “The dead can’t. Not really.”

“Stay.” Giles’s voice is pleading. “You can stay. You don’t have to go.”

“It’s what’s best for both of us.”

“It’s  _not._ You—you can’t show up and make ultimatums.” Giles takes her hand in his. It’s a strangely gentle gesture that doesn’t exactly mirror the emotional turmoil he’s feeling. “You can’t know what’s best for me.”

“What’s best for me, then?” Jenny asks simply. 

Giles stops. He knows the answer, but he doesn’t want to say it.

“You think I want to go?” Jenny’s not crying, but there’s an awful sadness in her eyes. “I want to stay here with you. I want to be the creepy ghost haunting the Sunnydale High library, and kiss you in your office, and help you save the world. I want to see Willow grow up. She’s such a bright kid. She needs someone to look out for her, and you’re sure as hell not keeping an eye on the magic she’s doing.” There’s a bit of a reprimand in that last sentence, which is so completely Jenny that Giles can’t help but love her for it. Everything about his loving her always did seem out of his control. “I can’t do that. I  _can’t._ I’m not tying you to me.”

“Jenny,  _please._ ”

“Don’t look at me like that!” Jenny stands up, turns away from him. “You make me want to stay, and I  _can’t do that—”_

Giles gets up from the tombstone, turns her around, pulls her into his arms. She’s shaking. She feels more like a person than a ghost when she buries her face in his shoulder. He imagines keeping her here, how nervous and ashamed she’d be. “Then go,” he says. He tries his best to sound understanding, but his voice just breaks. 

“In a minute,” Jenny says into his shoulder, and tightens her grip on him. 

“All right,” Giles agrees. “In a minute.”

He stays completely still. Jenny twines her arms around his neck and looks up at him. “I wouldn’t ever choose to leave you,” she says.

Giles wants to say something like  _You’re choosing to right now,_ but he loves her, and he’s done so much wrong to lead them here. Maybe if he’d tried harder, she’d be solid and warm in his arms, and they’d be kissing already because there would be no need for goodbyes. “I know,” he says instead.

“I can’t come back.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life pining for me, England.”

“I love you.”

Jenny gives him a look that seems a cross between adoring and exasperated and kisses him, threading her fingers through his hair. Giles kisses her back and tries to pretend that she’ll come back again someday, but then this is still more of a goodbye than he ever thought he would get.


	28. Kisses, Not Concussion-Induced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i attribute jenny caring so much about giles in this post-prophecy girl fic to the beautiful platonic friendship they shared in s1 which i have extrapolated from canon (and also the fact that she runs to him without hesitation when he gets knocked out)

The second kiss, wonderful and sweet as it was, wouldn’t quite match the intensity of the first, which was wrapped up in a combination of post-Hellmouth adrenaline and a mutual attraction that might or might not have been building ever since Moloch. Incidentally, the first kiss was so much better than Jenny had anticipated. Rupert’s hand was resting on her hip and his other hand was tangling in her hair and he’d lifted her off her feet, pinning her against the wall of the alley.

Jenny felt almost dizzy. There was a part of her that was worried; she knew enough about friendships to know that she didn’t want to lose this one, and a romantic relationship could go sour more easily than a platonic one. But that part was sort of drowned out by the parts of her that were intensely turned on, so she decided to ignore it for now, winding an arm around Rupert’s neck and pulling him so close that they could barely breathe.

Rupert pulled away, and for a moment Jenny was worried that he’d stammer some kind of apology, but he was kissing her neck and  _well_ there went her last thread of coherency. Jenny uttered a breathy gasp that made him pause before capturing her lips in another kiss.

They heard footsteps, and familiar voices.

This time, Rupert pulled away all the way, and very fast. Jenny, disoriented and dazed from the unexpected intensity of kissing Rupert Giles (which,  _damn,_ she’d been expecting soft and tender from a guy with a cultured British accent and an exclusively tweed wardrobe), pulled away as well, but forgot she was still pressed up against the wall. She felt a dull ache in the back of her head that she suspected might be a newly-forming bruise, and lost her balance, sliding down the wall into a sitting position on the ground.

“Whoa, Ms. Calendar, you okay?” Xander asked.

Rupert extended a hand to Jenny, and she took it, letting him pull her up and wind a supporting arm around her waist. “Ms. Calendar isn’t feeling quite well,” he said a little weakly, in a way that could be interpreted as worry. “I think I may need to drive her home early.”

“Yeah, of course,” said Buffy, soft and concerned. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” said Jenny, and meant it. “Just a little out of sorts. Hellmouth monsters are actually pretty cool.” 

Rupert gave her a quietly pointed look. “I’ll drive you home,” he said, almost a question, and squeezed her waist.

Jenny got the message loud and clear. “Kids, we’re going,” she said. “Get home safe, okay?”

She didn’t hear what they said in response, because now that she wasn’t kissing Rupert, it had finally hit her that she had just kissed Rupert. She had  _kissed_ Rupert. Oh god. 

And she might kiss him again. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. 

Or, okay, she knew how she felt. He was sweet, and cute, and he made her laugh, and when they walked together in the hallways she’d always wanted to stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek, half because she loved seeing him stammer and blush (there was something intoxicating in being the only person able to fluster a guy) and half because he was so damn adorable she could barely handle  _not_ showing him how much she cared. But showing people how much she cared meant showing them they could hurt you, and Jenny wasn’t sure if she trusted Rupert enough to give him something to use against her. 

Not to mention her ulterior motives for being in Sunnydale, but it wasn’t like that mattered all that much in the long run. Besides which, her uncle had given her explicit instructions to watch Angel, but he’d never said anything about dating.

Jenny realized, suddenly, that she’d gotten too wrapped up in her thoughts to register that they were already in Rupert’s car, and he was turning to face her. “Sorry,” he said, and lightly reached up, touching the back of her head. 

“Ouch,” said Jenny a little ruefully, and reached up herself, straightening Rupert’s glasses. He had very pretty eyes. “I don’t think it’s a concussion.”

“Still,” said Rupert, sounding a bit worried, “it looked rather painful. Is there anything I can—”

“Kiss me,” Jenny suggested, as casually as she could.

Rupert hesitated.

“It’s not a concussion-induced request, in case you were wondering,” said Jenny, and grinned slightly. “You’re a very good kisser.”

“A-as, um, as are you.” Rupert ducked his head, grinning a little himself. Then, carefully, he looked up again, eyes flickering to her mouth, and leaned in.

For a moment the kiss was chaste (and, if Jenny was being honest with herself, almost sweet), but then Rupert was pulling Jenny onto his lap in the driver’s seat, pulling her flush against him, his arm around her waist, and she was lost.

In a good way, though, definitely. Probably. Probably not. Wait—

Jenny pulled away, breathing hard. Rupert’s eyes were soft and bright and oh,  _oh_ , he was the most beautiful thing she’d seen all night. She’d seen teeth and vampires and thought she was going to die, and there was a part of her that still wasn’t sure she was going to live all that longer. This place sucked the life out of you, killed good people and better kids, and shouldn’t she seize the moment?

_Don’t leave me,_  she wanted to say, but it was a ridiculous and overly romantic thing to say to a guy when he was only now becoming something other than a close friend. Then again, Sunnydale did happen to be home to the ridiculous. Where else were there giant praying mantis substitute teachers, right?

But Rupert. Rupert, whose hand was carefully stroking her cheek, who was somehow able to be quiet and careful and loving (yeah, she wasn’t stupid, she saw the way he cared about those kids even if he didn’t) even in the face of all this bloodshed and mayhem. Rupert deserved better than all of this and he was tied to this town and there was just so much that was inherently  _unfair_ about that.   

She didn’t want to be lost in thought when she was kissing him. He deserved better than that, too. Carefully, Jenny traced the bruise on his temple with her finger. “Hey,” she said softly, trying to think of something other than the unexpected depth of how much she cared about him. “We match now.” 

Rupert laughed softly. “I suppose we do,” he said. Then, “Ms. Calendar—”

“I’m scared,” said Jenny. It didn’t feel like the same flippant aside that it had in his office yesterday. God, yesterday seemed so long ago. 

Rupert’s smile faded. Quietly, he said, “As am I.”

She hadn’t expected him to say that. She didn’t want him to be scared. A lot of this whole fighting-for-justice thing seemed pretty unfair. And yeah, he’d come and saved her and Willow with his battle-axe, but he looked so gentle and understanding in that moment that Jenny forgot her own fear and said with fierce, almost ridiculous impulsiveness, “Then I’ll protect you.”

Rupert looked at her. There was silence, for a moment, and then he kissed her hard.

Jenny kissed him back, her hands framing his face, her forehead bumping a little against his glasses. Rupert broke the kiss with a sigh and hastily discarded his glasses before returning to kissing her, the fingers of one hand splayed at the small of her back while the other hand framed her face. 

Kissing him was…she couldn’t find it in herself to worry about anything when she was with him. It had always been like that, really, even back when she was arguing with him about stupid technology things; when she was around him, she really only saw  _him._

Rupert pulled away, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, light feathery kisses that made Jenny’s nose scrunch as she giggled. This felt new (and, if she was being honest with herself, almost sweet) and she didn’t ever want to leave this car. It felt like a whole other world now, disconnected from vampires and demons and prophecies. Just her and a cute, dorky librarian, making out in a car like they didn’t have anything better to do.

 


End file.
